Sir Gawain and His Marriage to Lady Ragnell

This is one of the tales I remember hearing most frequently when we first started listening to storytellers, and it is one that I have a soft spot for.

The core of the tale is follows:

King Arthur is out hunting and gets separated from his party; he meets a knight who would challenge him, say Gawain has taken his lands from him. Arthur must give way, promising to return by the next New Year’s Day with the answer to the question “What is it that a woman desires the most?” else he will cut off his head. Arthur returns to court unhappily, sets out with Gawain for anwsers, but none of them seem satisfactory. On the way to meet the Lord, Arthur meets a hideous hag. She says she has the answer, but the price is that she weds Gawain. Arthur checks with Gawain, ho says he will do what he must for his King. She gives the answer to Arthur and he gives it to the Lord; and the Lord is angry - his sister must have told Arthur.

Back at court, the hag arrives, eats noisily, and goes off with Gawain. He is astonished to see she is beautiful; she says she is under an enchantment, and will he have her foul by day and fair by night, or v.v. He flounders, says it is her choice. She is released from the curse and the next morning the court is surprised to see Gawain with the fair maiden.

In The Legend of Sir Gawain; studies upon its original scope and significance, 1897, p48, Jessie L. Weston summarises an 1839 version of the original metrical romance, by Frederic Madden in the following terms:

… In the fragmentary poem of the The Marriage of Sir Gawayne [Sir Gawayne, Madden, p. 288.] we find the hero, in order to rescue King Arthur from the snares of a powerful enchanter, chivalrously wedding the magician’s sister, a lady of unexampled hideousness. On the marriage night she reveals herself as beautiful as she was previously repulsive, and gives her husband the choice whether he will have her beautiful by night, and hideous by day, or vice versa. Gawain, with that courtesy for which he was famous, leaves the decision to the lady; whereupon she tells him she has been laid under a spell to preserve this repulsive form till she finds a knight courteous enough ‘to give her her will.’ The spell is now broken, and she will be beautiful alike by night and by day.

A note in Percy’s 1794 edition of Reliques describes the state of fragmentation in the original manuscript.

Note in Percy, Reliques, 1794

https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_reliques-of-ancient-engl_1794_3/page/350/mode/2up

Reliques of ancient English poetry. Consisting of old heroic ballads, songs, and other pieces of our earlier poets, together with some few of later date. 1794: Vol 3 Publication date 1794

p350

with the poem p350-8

XIX.

THE ANCIENT FRAGMENT OF THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

The Second Poem in this Volume, intitled The Marriage of Sir Gawayne, having been offered to the Reader with large conjectural Supplements and Corrections, the old Fragment itself is here literally and exactly printed from the Editor’s folio MS. with all its defects, inaccuracies, and errata; that ſuch auſtere Antiquaries, as complain that the ancient copies have not been always rigidly adhered to, may ſee how unfit for publication many of the pieces would have been if all the blunders, corruptions, and nonſenſe of illiterate Reciters and Tranſcribers had been ſuperſtitiouſly retained, without ſome attempt to correct and emend them.

This Ballad had moſt unfortunately ſuffered by having half of every leaf in this Part of the MS. torn away; and, as about Nine Stanzas’ generally occur in the half page now remaining, it is concluded, that the other half contained nearly the ſame number of Stanzas.

Structurally, the tale poses a riddle — Sir Gromer Somer Joure’s challenge to Arthur — and then introduces several dilemmas (Arthur’s unwillingness to speak for Sir Gawain in committing him to marriage, Dame Ragnell’s question to Gawain), Dame Ragnell’s answer to the riddle — letting the other person decide — is also the answer that resolves the dilemmas.

Madden’s version is as follows:

The Weddynge of Sir Gawene and Dame Ragnelle, Madden, 1839

Frederic Madden Syr Gawayne; a collection of ancient romance-poems, by Scotish and English authors, relating to that celebrated knight of the Round Table, with an introduction, notes, and a glossary., 1839

p. lxvii

The Weddynge of S. Gawene and Dame Ragnelle. fol. 128°.

Printed in the present volume, Appendix, No. VIII. This is the identical poem referred to erroneously by Warton as existing in one of the Tanner MSS. (See Notes; p. 358.) For its discovery, (after the greater part of the sheets of this work was printed off,) I am indebted to the Rev. Henry O. Coxe, Assistant Librarian of the Bodleian Library, who most kindly and promptly undertook a transcript, which was subsequently compared by myself with the Manuscript. It is, unquestionably, the original of the mutilated poem in the Percy folio, and is sufficiently curious to render its insertion in the Appendix an object of interest, although, had I been earlier aware of its existence, some change would probably have been made in the arrangement. The title in the MS. is added by a later hand, and the poem itself is very carelessly written, so that several lines appear occasionally omitted. An entire page, containing — lines, is, unfortunately, wanting.

pp. 298-298yy

No. VIII.

The weddynge of S Gawen & Dame Ragnell.

[MS. Rawlinson, C.86, fol. 128. b ]

Lyhte! [Klythe, MS.] and liftenyth the lif’ of a lord’ riche,
The while that he lyvid’ was none hym liche,
Nether in bowre ne in halle;—
In the tyme of Arthour thys adventure betyd,’—
And’ of the greatt adventure that he hym felf dyd’,
That kyng curteys & royall.
Of alle kynge Arture beryth the flowyr,
And’ of alle knyghtod’ he bare away the hono’,
Where foeu he wentt;
In hys contrey was no thyng butt chyvalry,
And’ knygtite were belovid’ [by] that doughty,
For cowarde were elmore fhent.
Nowe wyll ye lyft a whyle to my talkyng,
I fhall you tell of Arthowre the kyng,
Howe ones hym befett;
On huntyng he was in Inglefwod’,
With alle his bold’ knyghte good’,—
Nowe herkef to my fpell.
The kyng was fett att his treftyll-tree,
With his bowe to fle the wylde ven’e,
And’ hys lorde were fett hym befyde;
As the kyng ftode, then was he ware,
Where a greatt hartt was and’ a fayre,
And’ forth faft dyd’ he glyde,
The hartt was in a braken ferne,
And’ hard’ the houndé, and’ ftode full derne,
Alle that fawe the kyng;—
“Hold’ you ftyll, euy mah,
And’ I woll goo my felf, yf I can,
With craft of ftalkyng.”
The kyng in hys hand’ toke a bowe,
And’ wodmanly he ftowpyd’ lowe,
To ftalk’ vnto that dere;
When that he cam the dere full nere,
The dere lept forth into a brere,
And eu the kyng went nere & nere.
So kyng Arthure went a whyle,
After the dere, I trowe, half a myle,
And’ no man with hym went;
And’ att the laft to the dere he lett flye,
And’ fmote hym fore and’ fewerly,
Suche grace God’ hym fent.
Doun the dere tumblyd’ fo deron,
And’ fell into a greatt brake of feron,
The kyng folowyd’ full faft;
Anon the kyng both ferce & fell
Was with the dere, and’ dyd’ hym fvell [ferve well?],
And’ after the graffe he tafte.
As the kyng was with the dere alone,
Streyght ther ca to hym a quaynt grome,
Armyd’ well and’ fure;
A knyght full ftrong, and’ of greatt myght,
And’ grymly worde to the kyng he fayd’,—
“Well i-mett, kyng Arthor!
Thou haft me done wrong many a yere,
And’ wofully I fhatt quytte the here,
I hold thy lyfe-days nygh done;
Thou haft gevyn my lande, in certayn,
With greatt wrong vnto S. Gawen,
Whate fayest thou, kyng alone?”
“Syr knyght, whate is thy name, with honor?”
“Syr kyng,” he fayd’, “Grom’fom Jour’,
I tell the nowe with ryght.”—
“A, S. Grom’fom’, bethynk’ the well,
To fle me here honor getyft thou no det,
Be-thynk’ the thou artt a knyght.
Yf thou fle me nowe in thys cafe,
Alle knyghte woll refufe the in euy place,
That fhame fhall new the froo;
Lett be thy wyll, and folowe wytt,
And’ that is amys I fhall amend?’ itt,
And’ thou wolt, or that I goo.”
“Nay,” fayd’ S. Grom’fom”, “by heuyn kyng!
So fhalt thou nott fkape, withoute lefyng,
I haue the nowe att avayll;
Yf I fhold’ lett the thus goo with mokery,
Anoder tyme thou wolt me defye,
Of that I fhatt nott fayll.”
Now fayd’ the kyng, “fo God’ me faue,
Save my lyfe, and’ whate thou wolt crave
I fhall now graunt itt the;
Shame thou fhalt haue to fle me in ven’e,
Thou armyd’, and I clothyd’ butt in grene, pde.”
“Alle thys fhatt nott help the, fekyrly,
For I woll nother lond’ ne gold’ truly,
Butt yf thou graunt me att a certayn day,
Suche as I fhatt fett, and’ in thys fame araye.”
“Yes,” fayd’ the kyng, “lo! here my hand’.”
“Ye, butt a-byde, kyng, and’ here me a ftound’.
Fyrft thow fhalt fwere, vpoh my fword’ broun,
To fhewe me att thy comyng whate wemefi love beft’ in feld’ and’ town; And’ thou fhalt mete me here, with outen fend’,
Evyn att this day xij. monethes end’;
And’ thou fhalt fwere vpoh my fwerd’ good’,
That of thy knyghte fhall none com w’ the, by the rood’,
Nowther frende [fremde?] ne freynd’.
And’ yf thou bryng nott anfwere, with oute fayll,
Thyne hed’ thou fhalt lofe for thy travayll,—
Thys fhall nowe be thyne oth.
Whate fayft thou, kyng, lett fe, haue done.””—
“Syr, I graunt to thys, now lett me gone,
Though itt be to me full loth.
I enfure the, as I am true kyng,
To com agayn att thys xij. monethes end’,
And’ bryng the thyne anfwere.”—
“Now go thy way, kyng Arthure,
Thy lyfe is in my hand’ I am full fure,
Of thy forowe thow artt nott ware.
Abyde, kyng Arthure, a lytell whyle,
Loke nott to day thou me begyle,
And’ kepe alle thyng in clofe;
For and’ I wyft, by Mary mylde,
Thou woldyft betray me in the feld’,
Thy lyf? fyrft fholdyft thou lofe.”
“Nay,” fayd’ kyng Arthure, “that may nott be,
Vutrewe knyght fhalt thou new fynde me,
To dye yett were me lever;
Farwett, S. knyght, and’ evyll mett,
I woll com, and’ I be of lyve, att the day fett,
Though I fhold’ fcape neu.”
The kyng his bugle gan blowe,
That hard’ euy knygtit, and’ itt gan knowe,
Vnto hym can they rake;
Ther they fond’ the kyng and’ the dere,
With fembland’ fad’ and’ hevy chere,
That had’ no luft to layk’.
“Go we home nowe to Carlyll,
Thys huntyng lykys me nott well.’”—
So fayd’ kyng Arthure;
Alle the lord¢ knewe by his counten”nce,
That the kyng had’ mett with fume dyfturbaunce.
Vnto Carlyll then the kyng cam,
Butt of his hevyneffe knewe no man,
His hartt was wonder hevy;
In this hevyneffe he dyd’ a-byde,
That many of his knyghte m’velyd’ that tyde.
Tyll att the laft S. Gawen
To the kyng he fayd’ than,
“Syr, me marvaylyth ryght fore,
Whate thyng that thou forowyft fore.”
Then anfweryd’ the kyng as tyght,
“I fhall the tell, gentyll Gawen knyght.
In the foreft as I was this daye,
Ther I mett with a knygiit in his araye,
And’ fteyn worde to me he gan fayn,
And’ chargyd’ me I fhold’ hym nott bewrayne;
His councell muft I kepe therfore,
Or els I am forfwore.”
“Nay, drede you nott, lord’, by Mary flower’,
I am nott that man that wold’ you difhonor,
Nother by euyn ne by moron.”—
“Forsoth I was of huntyng in Inglefwod’ Thowe knoweft well I flewe an hartt, by the rode,
Alle my fylf alon;
Ther mett I with a knyght armyd’ fure,
His name he told’ me was S. Grom’ fom’ Joure,
Therfor I make my mone.
Ther that knyght faft dyd’ me threte,
And’ wold’ haue flay me with greatt heatt,
But I fpak’ fayre agayn;
Wepyns with me ther had’ I none,
Alas! my worfhypp’ therfor is nowe gone.” —
“What therof?” fayd’ Gawen.
“What nedys more, I fhall nott lye,
He wold’ haue flayn me ther with oute m’cy,
And’ that me was full loth;
He made me to fwere that att the xij. monethes end’,
That I fhold’ mete hym ther in the fame kynde,
To that I plyght my trowith.
And’ alfo I fhold’ tell hym att the fame day,
Whate wemen defyren mofte, in good faye,
My lyf’ els fhold’ I lefe [leve, MS.];
This oth I made vnto that knygitt,
And’ that I fhold’ neu tell itt to no wight,
Of thys I myght nott chefe.
And’ alfo I fhold’ com in none oder araye,
But euyn as I was the fame daye;
And’ yf I faylyd’ of myne anfwere,
I wott I fhal be flay rygtt there.
Blame me nott though I be a wofutt man,
Alle thys is my drede and’ fere.”
“Ye, S,, make good’ chere,—
Lett make yor hors redy,
To ryde into ftraunge contrey;
And eu wher as ye mete owther man or woman, in faye,
Ask’ of theym whate thay therto faye.
And’ I fhall alfo ryde a noder waye,
And’ enquere of euy man and’ woman, and’ gett whatt I may,
Of euy mah and’ womans anfwere,
And in a boke I fhall theym wryte.”
“I graunt,” fayd’ the kyng, as tyte,
“Ytt is well advyfed, Gawen the good’,
Evyn by the holy rood’!”—
Sone were they [the, MS.] both redy,
Gawen and’ the kyng, wytterly.
The kyng rode on way, and’ Gawen anoder,
And eu enquyred’ of man, woman, and’ other,
Whate wemen defyred’ mofte dere.
Somme fayd’ they lovyd’ to be well arayd’,
Somme fayd’ they lovyd’ to be fayre prayed’;
Somme fayd’ they lovyd’ a lufty mah,
That in theyr armys can clypp’ them and’ kyffe them than;
Somme fayd’ one, fomme fayd’ other,
And’ fo had’ Gawen getyn many an anfwer’.
By that Gawen had’ geten whate he maye,
And come agayn by a certeyn daye;
Syr Gawen had’ goten anfwerys fo many,
That had’ made a boke greatt, wytterly,
To the courte he cam agayn;
By that was the kyng comyn with hys boke,
And’ eyther on others pamplett dyd’ loke,—
“Thys may nott fayd’ [faylle?],” fayd’ Gawen.
“By God’,” fayd’ the kyng, “I drede me fore,
I caft me to feke a lytell more,
In Ynglefwod’ Foreft;
I haue butt a moneth to my day fett,
I may hapeh oh fomme good’ tydynge to hytt,
Thys thynkyth me nowe beft.”
“Do as ye lyft,” then Gawen fayd’,
“What fo eu ye do I hold’ me payd’,
Hytt is good’ to be fpyrryng;
Doute you nott, lord’, ye fhait well fpede,
Sume of yor fawes fhall help att nede,
Els itt were yll lykyng.”
Kyng Arthoure rode forth on the other day,
In to Ynglefwod’ as hys gate laye,
And’ ther he mett with a lady;
She was as vngoodly a creature,
As eu man fawe, withoute mefure,
Kyng Arthure m’vaylyd’ fecurly.
Her face was red’, her nofe fnotyd’ withall,
Her mowith wyde, her teth yalowe ou all,
With bleryd’ eyen gretter then a ball,
Her mowith was nott to lak’;
Her teth hyng out her [he, MS.] lyppe,
Her chekys fyde as wemens hyppe,
A lute fhe bare vpon her bak’.
Her nek’ long and’ therto greatt,
Her here cloteryd of af hepe,
In the fholders fhe was a yard’ brode,
Hangyng pappys to be an hors-lode,
And’ lyke a barell fhe was made;
And’ to reherfe the fowlneffe of that lady,
Ther is no tung may tell, fecurly,
Of lothlyneffe inowgt fhe had’.
She fatt on a palfray was gay begon,
With gold befett, and many a precious ftone,
Ther was an vnfemely fyght;
So fowll a creature, with oute mefure,
To ryde fo gayly, I you enfure,
Ytt was no reafoh ne ryght.
She rode to Arthoure, and thus fhe fayd’,
“God’ fpede, kyng, I am well payd’,
That I haue with the mett;
Speke with me, I rede, or thou goo,
For thy lyfe is in my hand’, I warn the foo,
That fhalt thou fynde, and’ I itt nott lett.”
“Why, what wold’ ye, lady, nowe with me?”
“Syr, I wold’ fayn nowe fpeke with the,
And tell the tydynge good’;
For alle the anfwerys that thou canft yelpe,
None of theym alle fhall the helpe,
That fhalt thou knowe, by the rood’! Thou wenyft I knowe nott thy councell,
But I warn the I knowe itt euy deall,
Yf [In the MS. part of the previous line is carelessly repeated.] I help the nott thou art butt dead?;
Graunt me, S. kyng, butt one thyng,
And’ for thy lyfe I make warrauntyng,
Or elle thou fhalt lofe thy hed’.”
“Whate mean you, lady, tell me tygtit,
For of thy worde I haue great difpyte,
To you I haue no nede.
Whate is yor defyre, fayre lady,
Lett me wete fhortly,
Whate is yor meanyng;
And’ why my lyfe is in yor hand’,
Tell me, and’ I fhall you warraunt,
Alle yor oun afkyng?”
“For foth,” fayd’ the lady, “I am no qued’,
Thou muft graunt me a knyght to wed’,
His name is S. Gawen;
And’ fuche couen’nt I woll make the,
Butt thorowe myne anfwere thy lyf’ fauyd’ be,
Elle lett my defyre be in vayne.
And’ yf myne anfwere faue thy lyf’,
Graunt me to be Gawens wyf’,
Advyfe the nowe, S. kyng;
For itt muft be fo, or thou artt butt dead’,
Chofe nowe, for thou mayfte fone lofe thyne hed’.
Tell me nowe in hying.”
“Mary,” fayd’ the kyng, “I maye nott graunt the,
To make warrant S. Gawen to wed’ the,
Alle lyeth in hym alon;
Butt and’ itt be fo, I woll do my labor,
In favyng of my lyfe to make itt secor,
To Gawen woll I make my mone.”
“Well,” fayd’ fhe, “nowe go home agayn,
And’ fayre worde fpeke to S. Gawen,
For thy lyf? I may faue;
Though I be foull, yett am I gaye,
Thourgh me thy lyfe faue he maye,
Or fewer thy deth to haue.”
“Alas!”? he fayd’, “now woo is me,
That I fhold’ caufe Gawen to wed’ the,
For he wol be loth to faye naye;
So foull a lady as ye ar nowe one
Sawe I neu in my lyfe on ground’ gone,
I nott whate I do may.”
“No force, S. kyng, thougt I be foull,
Choyfe for a make hatti an owll,
Thou geteft of me no more;
When thou comyft agayn to thyne anfwer’,
Ryght in this place I shatt mete the here,
Or elle I wott thou artt lore [lore fowll, MS.].”
“Now farewell,” fayd’ the kyng, “lady,
“Ye, S.,” fhe fayd’, “ther is a byrd’ men catt ah owll [Sic MS.],
And’ yett a lady I am;”—
“Whate is yor name, I pray you tell me?”
“Syr kyng, I hight dame Ragneit, truly,
That neu yett begylyd’ man.”
“Dame Ragnell, nowe haue good’ daye,”—
“Syr kyng, God’ fpede the on thy way,
Ryght here I fhall the mete.”
Thus they departyd’ fayre and’ weit,
The kyng full fone com to Carlyll,
And’ his hartt hevy and’ greatt.
The fyrfte man he mett was S. Gawen,
That vnto the kyng thus gan fayn,
“Syr, howe haue ye fped’?”
“Forfoth,” fayd’ the kyng, “neu fo yll,
Alas! I am in poynt my felf to fpyll,
For nedely I moft be ded’.”
“Nay,” fayd’ Gawen, “that may nott be,
I had’ lever my felf be dead’, fo mott I the,
Thys is ill tydand’.”
“Gawen, I mett to day with the fowlyft lady
That ev I fawe, S.tenly;
She fayd’ to me my lyfe fhe wold’ faue,
Butt fyrft fhe wold’ the to husbond’ haue;
Wherfor I aim wo begon,
Thus in my hartt I make my mone.”
“Ys this all?” theh fayd’ Gawen,
“I shall wed’ her and’? wed’ her agayn,
Thowgh fhe were a fend’;
Thowgh fhe were as foull as Belfabub,
Her fhall I wed’, by the rood’,
Or elle were not I yor frende.
For ye ar my kyng with honor,
And’ haue worfhypt me in many a ftowre,
Therfor fhall I nott lett;
To faue yor lyfe, lord’, itt were my parte,
Or I were [were I, MS.] falfe and’ a greatt coward’,
And my worfhypp’ is the bett.”
“I-wys, Gawen, I mett her in Inglyfwod’,
She told’ me her name, by the rode,
That itt was dame Ragnell;
She told’ me butt I had’ of her anfwere,
Elle alle my laboure is neu the nere,
Thus fhe gaf me tell.
And butt yf her anfwer’ help me well,
Elle lett her haue her defyre no dele,
This was her coven’nt;
And’ yf her anfwere help me, and’ none other,
Then wold’ fhe haue you, here is alle to-geder,
That made fhe warraunt.”
“As for this,” fayd’ Gawen, “[it] fhall nott lett,
I woll wed’ her at whate time ye woll fett,
I pray you make no care;
For and’ fhe were the mofte fowlyft wygit,
That eu men myegiit fe with fyght,
For yor loue I woll nott fpare.”
“Garam’cy, Gawen,” then fayd’ kyng Arthor,
“Of alle knygtite thou bereft the flowre,
That eu yett I fond’;
My worfhypp’ and’ my lyf’ thou favyft for eu,
Therfore my loue fhall nott frome the dyffevyr,
As I am kyng in lond’.”
Then within v. or vj. days,
The kyng muft nedys goo his ways,
To bere his anfwere;
The kyng and’ S. Gawen rode oute of toun,
No man with them, butt they alone,
Neder ferre ne nere.
Whefi the kyng was with in the Foreft,—
“Syr Gawen, farewell, I muft go weft,
Thou fhalt no furder goo;”
“My lord’, God’ fpede you on yor jorney,
I wold’ I fhold’ nowe ryde yor way,
For to departe I am ryght wo.”
The kyng had’ rydden butt a while,
Lytell more then the fpace of a myle,
Or he mett dame Ragnell;—
“A, S. kyng, ye arre nowe welcu here,
I wott ye ryde to bere yor anfwere,
That woll avayll you no dele.”
Nowe fayd’ the kyng, “fith itt woll none other be,
Tell me yor anfwere nowe, and’ my lyfe faue me,
Gawen fhall you wed’;
So he hath pmyfed’ me my lyf’ to faue,
And’ yor defyre nowe fhall ye haue,
Both in bowre and’ in bed’.
Therfore tell me nowe alle in haft,
Whate woll help now att laft,
Haue done, I may nott tary;”—
“Syr,” quod’ dame Ragnell, “nowe fhalt thou knowe,
Whate wemen defyren mofte, of high and’ lowe,
From this I woll not varaye.
Summe men fayfi, we defyre to be fayre,
Alfo we defyre to haue repayre,
Of diufe ftraunge men;
Alfo we loue to haue luft in bed’,
And’ often we defyre to wed’,
Thus ye mef nott ken [Sic MS.].
Yett we defyre a noder man thyng,
To be holden nott old’, but freffhe and’ yong;
With flatryng, and’ glosyng, and’ quaynt gyn,
So ye men may vs wemen eu wyn,
Of whate ye woll crave.
Ye goo full nyfe, I wott nott lye,
Butt there is one thyng is alle oure fantafye,
And’ that nowe fhall ye knowe;
We defyref of men, aboue alle man thyng,
To haue the foueynte, wtoute lefyng,
Of alle, both hygh and’ lowe.
For where we haue foueynte alle is ourys,
Though a knyght be neu fo ferys,
And’ eu the maftry wynne;
Of the mofte manlyeft is oure defyre,
To haue the foueynte of fuche a fyre,
Suche is oure crafte and’ gynne.
Therfore wend’, S. kyng, on thy way,
And’ tell that knyght, as I the faye,
That itt is as we defyrefi mofte;
He wol be wroth and’ vnfought,
And’ curfe her faft, that itt the taught,
For his laboure is loft.
Go forth, S. kyng, and’ hold’ pmyfe,
For thy lyfe is fure nowe in alle wyfe,
That dare I well vndertake.”
The kyng rode forth a greatt fhake,
As faft as he myght gate;
Thorowe myre, more, and’ fenne,
Where as the place was fygnyd’ and’ fett then,
Evyn there with S Gromy he mett.
And’ ftern worde to the king he fpak’ with that,—
“Com of, S. kyng, nowe lett fe,
Of thyne anfwere whate itt fhal be,
For I am redy grathyd’.”
The kyng pullyd’ oute boke twayne,—
“Syr, ther is myne anfwer’, I dare fayn,
For fomme wott help at nede.”
Syr Gromy lokyd’ on theym euychon,—
“Nay, nay, S. kyng, thou artt but a dead’ mafi,
Therfor nowe fhalt thou blede.”
“Abyde, S. Gromy,” fayd’ kyng Arthoure,
“I haue one anfwere fhatt make all [ale, MS.] fure,” —
“Lett fe,” then fayd’ S. Gromy;
“Or els, fo God’ me help as I the fay,
Thy deth thou fhalt haue wt large paye,
I tell the nowe enfure.”
Now fayd’ the kyng, “I fe, as I geffe,
In the is butt a lytell gentilneffe,
By God’, that ay is helpand’!
Here is oure anfwere, and’ that is alle,
That wemen defyren mofte fpeciall,
Both of fre and’ bond’.
I faye no more, butt aboue al thyng
Wemeh defyre fuleynte, for that is theyr lykyng,
And’ that is ther moft defyre;
To have the rewll of the manlyeft meh,
And’ then ar they well, thus they me dyd’ ken,
To rule the, Grom’ fyre.”
“And’ fhe that told’ the nowe, S. Arthoure,
I pray to God’, I maye fe her bren on a fyre,
For that was my fufter dame Ragnell;
That old’ scott, God’ geve her [he MS.] fhame!
Elle had’ I made the full tame,
Nowe haue I loft moche travayll.
Go where thou wolt, kyng Arthoure,
For of me thou maifte be eu fure,
Alas! that I eu fe this day;
Nowe, well I wott, myne enime thou wolt be,
An@ att fuche a pryk’ fhall I ned gett the,
My fong may be well-awaye!”
“No,” fayd’ the kyng, “that make I warraunt,
Some harnys I woll haue to make me defendaunt,
That make I God’ avowe!
In fuche a plyght fhallt thou net me fynde,
And’ yf thou do, lett me bete and’ bynde,
As is for thy beft prouf [prow?].”
“’ Nowe haue good’ day,” fayd’ S. Gromy,
“Farewell,” fayd’ S. Arthoure, “fo mott I the,
I am glad’ I haue fo fped’.”—
King Arthoure turnyd’ hys hors into the playn,
And’ fone he mett with dame Ragnelt agayn,
In the fame place and’ ftede.
“Syr kyng, I am glad’ ye haue fped’ well,
I told’ howe itt wold’ be, euy dell,
Nowe hold’ that ye haue hyght;
Syn I haue fauyd’ yor lyf’, and’ none other,
Gawen muft me wed’, S. Arthoure,
That is a full gentill knyght.”
“No, lady, that I you hight I fhall not fayll,
So ye wol be rulyd’ by my cowncell,
Yor will then fhall ye haue;”—
“Nay, S. kyng, nowe woll I nott foo,
Openly I wol be weddyd’ or I parte the froo,
Elle fhame woll ye haue.
Ryde before, and’ I woll com after,
Vnto thy courte, S. kynge Arthoure,
Of no man I woll fhame;
Be-thynk’ you howe I haue fauyd’ yor lyf’,
Therfor with me nowe fhall ye nott ftryfe,
For and’ ye do, ye be to blame.”
The kyng of her had’ greatt fhame,
But forth fhe rood’, though he were grevyd’;
Tyll they cam to Karlyle forth they mevyd’.
In to the courte fhe rode hym by,
For no man wold’ fhe fpare, fecurly,
Itt likyd’ the kyng full yll.
Alle the contraye had’ wonder greatt,
Fro whens fhe com, that foule vnfwete,
They fawe neu of fo fowll a thyng;
In to the hall fhe went, in certen,—
“Arthoure kyng, lett fetche me S. Gaweyn,
Before the knyghte, alle in hying.
That I may nowe be made fekyr,
In welle and’ wo trowith plyght vs togeder,
Before alle thy chyvalry;
This is yor graunt, lett fe, haue done,
Sett forth S. Gawen, my love, anon,
For lenger tarying kepe nott I.”
Then cam forth S. Gawen the knyght,—
“Syr, I am redy of that I you hyght,
Alle forwarde to fulfyll;”
“Godhauemrcy,” fayd’ dame Ragnell then,
“For thy fake I wold’ I were a fayre woman,
For thou art of fo good’ wyll.”
Ther S. Gawen to her his trowth plyght,
In well and’ in woo, as he was a true knyght,
Then was dame Ragnell fayn;
“Alas!” then fayd’ dame Gaynor,
So fayd’ alle the ladyes in her bower,
And’ wept for S. Gawen.
“Alas!” then fayd’ both kyng and’ knyght,
That eu he fhold’ wed’ fuch a wyght,
She was fo fowit and’ horyble;
She had’ two teth on euy fyde,
As borys tuske, I woll nott hyde,
Of length a large handfull.
The one tufk’ went up, and the other doun,
A mowth full wyde, and’ fowll igrown,
With grey herys many on;
Her lyppe lay lumpryd’ on her chyn,
Nek’ forsoth on her was none ifeen,
She was a lothly on!
She wold’ nott be weddyd’ in no man’,
Butt there were made a krye in alle the fhyre,
Boti in town and’ in borowe;
Alle the ladyes nowe of the lond’,
She lett kry to com to hand’,
To kepe that brydalle thorowe.
So itt befyll after on a daye,
That maryed’ fhold’ be that fowll [lady |
Vuto S. Gaweyn;
The daye was comyn the daye fhold’ be,
Therof the ladyes had’ greatt pitey,
“Alas!” then gan they fayn.
The queeh prayd’ dame Ragnell, fekerly,
To be maryed’ in the mornyng erly,
As pryvaly as we may;
“Nay,” fhe fayd’, “by hevyn kyng!
That woll I neu’, for no thyng,
For ought that ye can faye.
I wol be weddyd’ alle openly,
For with the kyng fuche covern’nt made I,
I putt you oute of dowte;
I woll nott to church tyll high maffe tyme,
And’ in the open halle I woll dyne,
In myddys of alle the rowte.”
“I am greed’,” fayd’ dame Gaynor,
“Butt me wold’ thynk’ more honor,
And yor worfhypp’ mofte;”—
“Ye, as for that, lady, God’ you fane,
This daye my worfhypp’ woll I haue,
I tell you withoute bofte.”
She made her redy to church to fare,
And’ alle the State that there ware,
Syrs, withoute lefyng;
She was arayd’ in the richeft man’,
More freffher than dame Gayno’.
Her arayment was worth iij Ml mark’,
Of good’ red’ nobles ftyff and’ ftark’,
So rychely fhe was begon;
For alle her rayment fhe bare the bell
Of fowlneffe, that eu I hard’ tell,
So fowll a fowe fawe neu man.
For to make a fhortt conclufion,
When fhe was weddyd’, they hyed’ theym home,
To mete alle they went;
This fowll lady bygan the high defe,
She was full foull, and’ nott curteys,
So fayd’ they alle, verament.
When the fuyee cam her before,
She ete as moche as vj. that ther wore,
That m’vaylyd’ many a man;
Her naylys were long ynchys iij,
Therwith fhe breke her mete vngoodly,
Therfore fhe ete alone.
She ette iij. capons, and’ alfo curlues iij,
And’ greatt bake mete fhe ete vp, pde,
Al men therof had’ m’vayll;
Ther was no mete ca her before,
Butt fhe ete itt vp, leffe and’ more,
That praty fowll damefell.
All mefi then that eu her fawe,
Bad’ the devill her bonys gnawe,
Both knyght and fquyre;
So fhe ete tyll mete was done,
Tyll they drewe clothes, and’ had’ waffhen,
As is the gyfe and’ man’.
Meny mein wold? fpeke of diufe fuice,
I trowe ye may wete inowgti ther was,
Both of tame and’ wylde;
In king Arthours courte ther was no wontt,
That myght be gotten with mannys hond’,
Noder in foreft ne in feld’.
Ther were mynftralle of diuse contrey

---

[A leaf here is wanting.]

---

“A, S. Gawen, fyn I haue you wed’,
Shewe me yor cortefy in bed’,
With rygtht itt may nott be denyed’.
I-wyfe, S. Gawen,” that lady fayd’,
“And’ I were fayre, ye wold’ do a noder brayd’,
Butt of wedlok’ ye take no hed’;
Yett for Arthours fake, kyffe me att the lefte,
I pray you do this att my requeft,
Lett fe, howe ye can fpede.”
S. Gawen fayd’, “I woll do more
Then for to kyffe, and’ God’ before!”
He turnyd’ hym her vntill;
He fawe her the fayreft creature,
That eu he fawe, withoute mefure,—
She fayd’, “whatt is yor wyll?”
“A, Ihu!” he [fhe, MS.] fayd’, “whate ar ye?”
“S., I am yor wyf’, fecurly,
Why ar ye fo unkynde?”
“A, lady, I am to blame,
I cry you m’cy, my fayre madame,
Itt was nott in my mynde.
A lady ye ar fayre in my fyght,
And’ to day ye were the foulyft wyght,
That eu I fawe with myne ie [ien, MS.];
Wele is me, my lady, I haue you thus,”—
And’ brafyd’ her in his armys, and’ gan her kyffe,
And’ made greatt joye, fycurly.
“Syr,” fhe fayd’, “thus fhall ye me haue,
Chefe of the one, fo God’ me faue,
My beawty woll nott hold’;
Wheder ye woll haue me fayre of nyghte [nyght, MS.].
And’ as foull of days to alle men fighte;
Or els to haue me fayre on days,
And’ of nyghte on the fowlyft wyfe,
The one ye muft nede haue;
Chefe the one or the oder,
Chefe of, S. knyght, which you is leu,
Yor worfhypp’ for to faue.”
“Alas!” fayd’ Gawen, “the choyfe is hard’,
To chefe the beft itt is froward’,
Wheder choyfe that I chefe;
To haue you fayre on nyghte and’ no more,
That wold’ greve my hartt ryght fore,
And’ my worfhypp’ fhold’ I lefe [lofe, MS.].
And’ yf I defyre oft days to haue you fayre,
Theh of nyghte I fhold’ haue a fymple repayre,
Now fayn wold’ I chofe the beft;
I ne wott in thys world’ whate I fhall faye,
Butt do as ye lyft nowe, my lady gaye,
The choyfe I putt in yor fyft.
Euyn as ye woll I putt itt in yor hand’,
Lofe me when ye lyft, for I am bond’,
I putt the choyfe in you;
Both body and’ goode, hartt, and’ euy dele,
Ys alle yor oun, for to by and’ fell,
That make I God’ avowe!”
« Garam’cy, corteys knyght,” fayd’ the lady,
“Of alle erthly knygihe blyffyd’ mott thou be,
For now am I worfhyppyd’;
Thou fhall haue me fayre both day and’ nyght,
And’ eu whyle I lyve as fayre and’ bryght,
Therfore be nott greuyd’.
For I was fhapen by nygramancy,
With my ftepdame, God’ haue on her m’cy! And’ by enchauntement;
And’ fhold’ haue bene oderwyse vnderftond’,
Euyn tyll the beft of Englond’
Had’ wedyd’ me, verament.
And’ alfo he fhold’ geve me the foueynte,
Of alle his body and’ goode, fycurly,
Thus was I difformyd’;
And’ thou, S. knyght, curteys Gawen,
Has gevyn me the foueynte, fteyn,
That woll not wroth the erly ne late.
Kyffe me, S. knyght, euyn now here,
I pray the, be glad’, and’ make ‘good’ chere,
For well is me begoh”;—
Ther they made joye, oute of mynde,
So was itt reason and’ cors of kynde,
They two theym felf alone.
She thankyd’ God’ and’ Mary mylde,
She was recoud of that that fhe was defoylyd’,
So dyd’ S. Gawen;
He made myrth alle in her boure,
And’ thankyd’ of alle oure Sauyoure,
I tell you, in certeyn.
With joye & myrth they wakyd’ tyll daye,
And’ than wold’ ryfe that fayre maye [mayd, MS.],
“Ye fhall nott,” S. Gawen fayd’;
“We woll lye, & flepe tyll pryme,
And’ then lett the kyng call vs to dyne,”—
“] am greed’,” then fayd’ the mayd’.
Thus itt paffyd’ forth tyll mid-daye,—
“Syrs [ Syr, MS.],” quod’ the kyng, “lett vs go and’ afaye,
Yf S. Gawen be of lyve;
I am full ferd’ of S. Gawen,
Nowe left the fende haue hym flayn,
Nowe wold’ I fayn preve.
Go we nowe,” fayd’ Arthoure the kyng,
“We woll go fe theyr vpryfyng,
Howe well that he hath fped’;”—
They cam to the chambre, alle in certeyn,
“Aryfe,” fayd’ the kyng to S. Gawen,
“Why flepyft thou fo long in bed??”
“Mary,” quod’ Gawen, “S. kyng, ficurly,
I wold’ be glad’ and’ ye wold’ lett me be,
For I am full well att eas;
Abyde, ye fhall fe the dore vndone,
I trowe that ye woll fay I am well goon,
I am futt loth to ryfe.”
Syr Gawen rofe, and’ in his hand’ he toke
His fayr lady, and’ to the dore he fhoke,
And’ opynyd’ the dore full fayre;
She ftod’ in her fmok’ alle by that fyre,
Her her [hed, MS.] was to her knees as red’ as gold’ wyre,—
“Lo! this is my repayre.
Lo!” fayd’ Gawen Arthoure vntill,
« Syr, this is my wyfe, dame Ragnell,
That fauyd’ onys yor lyfe;’—
He told’ the kyng and’ the queen hem beforn,
Howe fodenly from her fhap fhe dyd’ torne,
“My lord’, nowe be yor leve.”
And’ whate was the caufe fhe forfhapen was,
Syr Gawen told’ the kyng, both more and’ leffe,
“I thank’ God’,” fayd’ the queen;
“I wenyd’, S. Gawen, fhe wold’ the haue myfcaryed’,
Therfore in my hartt I was fore agrevyd’,
Butt the contrary is here feen.”
Ther was game, revell, and’ playe,
And’ euy man to other gan faye,
“She is a fayre wyght;”
Than the kyng theym alle gan tell,
How did’ held’ hym att nede dame Ragnell,
“Or my deth had’ bene dyght.”
Ther the kyng told’ the queen, by the rood’,
Howe he was beftad’ in Inglefwod’,
With S. Gromy fom’ Joure;
And’ whate othe the kngyht made hym fwere,
“Or elle he had’ slay me ryght there,
Wtoute m’cy or mefure.
This fame lady, dame Ragnell,
From my det fhe dyd’ help me ryght well,
Alle for the love of Gawen;”—
The Gawen told’ the king alle to-geder,
Howe forfhapen fhe was with her ftepmoder
Tyll a knyght had’ holpen her agayf.
Ther fhe told’ the kyng fayre and’ well,
How Gawen gave her the foueynte euy dell,
And’ whate choyfe fhe gave to hym;—
“God’ thank’ hym of his curtesye,
He favid’ me from chaunce and’ vilony,
That was full foull and’ grym.
Therfore, curteys knyght and’ hend’ Gawen,
Shatt I ned wrath the, fteyn,
That pmyfe nowe here I make;
Whille that I lyve I fhal be obayfaunt,
To God’ aboue I fhall itt warraunt,
And’ neu with you to debate.”
“Garam’cy, lady,” then fayd’ Gawen,
“Wt you I hold’ me full well content,
And’ that I truft to fynde;’—
He fayd’, “my loue fhall fhe haue,
Therafter nede fhe neu more craue,
For fhe hath bene to me fo kynde.”
The queen fayd’, and’ the ladyes alle,
“She is the fayreft nowe in this halle,
I fwere by Seynt John !—
My loue, lady, ye fhall haue eu,
For that ye favid’ my lord’ Arthoure,
As I am a gentilwoman.”
Syr Gawen gatt on her Gyngolyn,
That was a good’ knygiit of strength and’ kyng,
And’ of the Table Round’;
Att euy greatt feft that lady fhold’ be,
Of fayrneffe fhe bare away the bewtye,
Wher fhe yed’ oft the ground’.
Gawen louyd’ that lady, dame Ragnell,
In alle his lyfe he louyd’ none fo well,
I tell you, withoute lefyng;
As a coward’ he lay by her both day and’ nyght,
Neu wold’ he haunt justyng aryght,
Ther att m’vaylyd’ Arthoure the kyng [kyng Arthoure, MS.].
She prayd’ the kyng, for his gentilnes,
To be good’ lord’ to S. Gromy i-wyffe,
Of that to you he hath offendyd’;—
“Yes, lady, that shall I nowe, for yor fake,
For I wott well he may nott amende make,
He dyd’ to me full vnhend’.”
Nowe for to make you a fhort conclufyoh,
I caft me for to make ah end’ full fone,
Of this gentyll lady;
She lyvyd’ with S. Gawen butt yerys v.
That grevyd’ Gawen alle his lyfe,
I tell you, fecurly.
In her lyfe fhe grevyd’ hym neu,
Therfor was neu woman to hym lever,
Thus leves my talkyng;
She was the fayreft lady of all [ale, MS.] Englond’,
When fhe was on Iyve, I vnderstond’,
So fayd’ Arthoure the kyng.
Thus endyth the aduenture of kyng Arthoure,
That oft in his days was grevyd’ fore,
And’ of the weddyng of Gawen;
Gawen was weddyd’ oft in his days,
Butt fo well he net lovyd’ woman always,
As I haue hard’ men fayn.
This aduenture befell in Inglefwod’,
As good’ kynge Arthoure of huntyng yod’,
Thus haue I hard’ men tell;
Nowe, God’, as thou were in Bethleme born,
Suffer neu her foules be forlorne,
In the brynnyng fyre of hell!
And’, Ihu, as thou were borne of a virgyn,
Help hym oute of forowe, that this tale dyd’ devyne,
And’ that nowe in alle haft;
For he is be-fett with gaylours many,
That kepeh hym full fewerly,
With wyles wrong & wrafte.
Nowe, God’, as thou art veray kyng ryoall,
Help hym oute of daunger that made this tale,
For therin he hath bene long;
And’ of greatt pety help thy funt,
For body & foull I yeld’ into thyne hand’,
For paynes he hath ftrong.

Here endyth the weddyng of Syr Gawen and Dame Ragnell, for helpyng of Kyng Arthoure.

Madden also provides several notes on the poem:

Marriage of Sir Gawaine — notes

Frederic Madden Syr Gawayne; a collection of ancient romance-poems, by Scotish and English authors, relating to that celebrated knight of the Round Table, with an introduction, notes, and a glossary., 1839.

Notes pp.358-360

Marriage of Sir Gawaine.

THIS fragment is borrowed from the text of the Percy Manuscript, as given in the “Reliques of Ancient English Poetry,” vol. iii. p. 350, edit. 1794. Dr. Percy supplied the deficiencies in a very ingenious manner, and inserted the ballad thus amended in the first edition of his collection, 8vo, 1764, and repeated it in all subsequent impressions; but this mode of editing ancient poetry having justly been blamed by Ritson and Pinkerton, the Bishop in the fourth edition annexed the fragment, “with all its defects, inaccuracies and errata,” in order to show the state of the poem in the MS. Ritson reprinted the genuine and the amended texts in parallel columns in the Dissertation prefixed to his Metrical Romances, 8vo, 1802, p. cx, and the ballad in its improved form was introduced also by Lewis into his Tales of Wonder, vol. ii. p. 362, 8vo, 1802. The Bishop was of opinion that this poem was more ancient than the time of Chaucer, and that he borrowed from it his Wife of Bathe’s tale (See Cambro-Briton, vol. i. p. 256, 8vo, 1820); and Sir Walter Scott in a letter to George Ellis writes, that the tale of Sir Gawayne’s Foul Lady is originally Scaldic, as appears in the history of Hrolf Kraka, edited py Torfzeus, 12mo, Havn. 1715, cap. vii. (Life, by Lockhart, vol.i. p. 334.) The passage itself is quoted from the Saga by Scott in his Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 140, in illustration of the old Scotish ballad of King Henrie, which preserves very remarkably the legend of the Scandinavian monarch, Helgius.

Warton says in a note to his “History of English Poetry,” vol. ii. p. 41, ed. 1894, “I must not forget here, that Sir Gawaine, one of Arthur’s champions, is celebrated in a separate romance. Among Tanner’s Manuscripts we have The Weddynge of Sir Gawaine, Numb. 455, Bibl. Bodl. It begins, ‘Be ye blythe, and listeneth to the lyf of a lorde riche.’” It would have given me much pleasure to have included this romance in the present volume, but Warton’s reference is erroneous, and although the Rev. Dr. Bandinel with the greatest courtesy undertook a minute and laborious search for the poem in question, it was without success. Warton’s notorious inaccuracy in matters of this sort forms a sad blot in his otherwise very useful and entertaining work, of which a critical edition is still much desiderated.

P. 289, 1.32. Tearne-wadling.

See previous Note, in p. 330. [P. 95, st.i.1.2. By the Terne Wahethelyne. This is still the name of a small tarn or lake, which covers about an hundred acres of land in the forest of Inglewood, near Hesketh in Cumberland. Towards the north-east end were the remains, in 1794, of an ancient castle, called popularly Castle Hewin. Hutchinson’s Cumberland, i. 491. The spot is again alluded to in the romance-tale or ballad on the Marriage of Sir Gawayne, printed by Percy, Reliques, iii. 351, ed. 1794, and reprinted in the Appendix to the present volume. Consult Ritson’s King Arthur, p. 93.]

P. 293, 1. 116. Sir Lancelott and Sir Steven bold.

The name of the second of these champions does not occur in the Round Table romances.

Ibid. 1. 120.
Soe did Sir Banier and Str Bore,
Sir Garrett with them, soe gay.

Banier is probably a mistake for Beduer, the king’s constable. Sir Bore is Bors de Gauves. (See previous Note, p. 313.) Sir Garett is Gareth or Gaheriet, the younger brother of Sir Gawayne; and his adventures, under the surname of Beaumayns, occupy an entire book,—the seventh,—in the Morte d’ Arthur, vol. i. pp. 186-245. He took the part of Lancelot against his brothers, but was accidentally killed by him on the occasion of the rescue of queen Guenever. Ibid. vol. ii. p. 403. Revenge for his loss prompted Sir Gawayne to induce king Arthur to cross the sea to attack Lancelot, which ultimately proved the destruction of the whole of the Table Ronde. Sir Walter Scott in a Note on Sir Tristrem, p. 379, ed. 1833, quotes a “romance of Sir Gaheret,” in which the knight plays at chess with a beautiful fairy, [Floribelle, a suivante of the fairy Morgana, ] and is vanquished, but is afterwards liberated from his confinement by his cousin [brother] Gawayne, who wins the game by a move long afterwards called l’échec de Gauvain, and now léchec du berger, or fool’s-mate. In reality there is no such romance, but the adventure here alluded to occurs in an episodical tale of Gawayne and his three brothers, analysed in the Bibliotheque des Romans, Juillet, 1777, pp. 87-122. I may here venture to correct another venial error of Scott, who in the same work, p. 416, quotes from Gower the lines,

There was Tristrem, which was beloved
With bele Isolde; and Lancelot
Stode with Guenor, and Galahote
With his lady.

Sir Walter argues, that Gower is here incorrect, since Galahaut or Galahad had no paramour. But Gower is perfectly accurate, and alludes to Gallehault, king of the loingtaines isles or de oultre les marches, whose mistress was Malchault, lady in attendance on queen Guenever, and by whose instrumentality the intrigue of Lancelot with her mistress was brought about. See the Roman de Lancelot, vol. i. ff. lxxxiii-v, edit. 1513. Scott confounds this Gallehault with Galaad, the immaculate son of Lancelot, who accomplished the adventure of the Sangreal.

A version of the verse in a rather more modern form appeared in Percy’s “Reliques of Ancient English Poetry”, which was widely quoted elsewhere.

From “Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry”, in “Tales of Wonder”, 1801

https://archive.org/details/talesofwonder02lewirich/page/362/mode/2up

Tales of wonder; by Lewis, M. G. (Matthew Gregory), 1775-1818; Scott, Walter, Sir, 1771-1832; Southey, Robert, 1774-1843; Leyden, John, 1775-1811

Also in Reliques of ancient English poetry: consisting of Old Heroic Ballads, Songs, and other Pieces of our earlier Poets, (Chiefly of the Lyric kind.) Together with some few of later Date. Volume the third, p11-24, Bishop Thomas Percy, 1765.

Publication date 1801

Vol. 2

pp. 362-378

No. XLV.

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

From “Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry”.

PART I.

King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there with him Queene Guenever,
That bride soe bright of blee.

And there with him Queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre:
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.

The King a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.

And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a faire damselle,
And knelt upon the ground.

—“A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthure,
“I beg a boone of thee;
“Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
“Who hath shent my love and mee.

“At Tearne-Wadling [Tearne-Wadling is the name of a small lake near Hasketh in Cumberland, on the road from Penrith to Carlisle. There is a tradition, that an old castle once stood near the lake, the remains of which were not long since visible. Tearh, in the dialect of that country, signifies a small lake, and is still in use. ] his castle stands,
“Near to that lake so fair,
“And proudlye rise the battlements,
“And streamers deck the air.

“Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay,
“May pass that castle-walle:
“But from that foule discurteous knighte,
“Mishappe will them befalle.

“Hee’s twyce the size of common men,
“Wi’ thewes, and sinewes stronge,
“And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
“That is both thicke and longe.

“This grim me Barone ‘twas our harde happe,
“But yester morne to see;
“When to his bowre he bare my love,
“And sore misused mee.

“And when I told him, King Arthure
“As lyttle shold him spare;
“Goe tell, say’d hee, that cuckold kinge,
“To meete mee if he dare” —

Upp then sterted King Arthure,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne’er wolde quitt that grimme Barone,
Till he had made him quail.

“Goe fetch my sword Excalibar:
“Goe saddle mee my steede;
“Nowe, by my faye, that grimme Barone
“Shall rue this ruthfuUe deede.

And when he came to Tearne-Wadlinge
Benethe the castle walk:
“Come forth; come forth; thou proude Barone,
“Or yielde thyself my thralle.”

On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenced with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.

Forth then rush’d that carlish Knight,
King Arthure felte the charme:
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his. feeble arme.

— “Nowe yield thee, yield thee, Kinge Arthure,
“Now yield thee unto mee;
“Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
“Noe better termes maye bee.

“Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
“And promise on thy faye,
“Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling,
“Upon the new-yeare’s daye;

“And bringe me worde what thing it is
“All women moste desyre;
“This is thy ransome, Arthur” he sayes,
“He have noe other hyre.” —

King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sware upon his faye,
Then took his leave of the grimme Barone
And faste hee rode awaye.

And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.

Some told him riches, pompe, or state;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte.

In letters all King Arthur wrote,
And seal’d them with his ringe:
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.

As ruthfulle he lode over a more,
He saw a Ladye sette
Betweene an oke, and a greene holleye,
All clad in red scarlette.

Her nose was crookt and turnd outwarde,
Her chin stoode all awrye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye;

Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form’d ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.

To hail the King in seemelye sorte
This ladye was fulle faine;
But King Arthure all sore amaz’d,
No aunswere made againe.

— “What wight art thou,” the Ladye say’d,
“That wilt not speake to mee;
“Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,
“Though I bee Joule to see.

— “If thou wilt ease my paine,” he sayd,
“And helpe me in my neede;
“Ask what thou wilt, thou grimme Ladye,
“And it shall bee thy meede.” —

— “O sweare mee this upon the roode,
“And promise on thy faye;
“And here the secrette I will telle,
“That shall thy ransome paye” —

King Arthur promised on his faye,
And sware upon the roode:
The secrette then the Ladye told,
As lightlye well she cou’de.

— “Now this shall be my paye,” sir King,
“And this my guerdon bee,
“That some yong fair and courtlye knight,
“Thou bringe to marrye mee,” —

Fast then pricked King Arthure
Ore hille, and dale, and downe:
And soone he founde the Barone’s bowre,
And soone the grimme Baroune.

He bare his clubbe upon his backe,
Hee stoode bothe stiffe and stronge;
And, when he had the letters reade,
Awaye the letters flunge.

— “Nowe yielde thee, Arthur, and thy lands,
“All forfeit unto mee;
“For this is not thy paye, sir King,
“Nor may thy ransome bee.” —

— “Yet hold thy hand, thou proud Barone,
“I praye thee hold thy hand;
“And give mee leave to speake once more
“In reskewe of my land.

“This morne, as I came over a more,
“I saw a Ladye sette
“Betwene an oke, and a greene holleye,
“All clad in red scarlette;

“She sayes, all women will have their wille,
“This is their chief desyre;
“Now yield, as thou art a Barone true,
“That I have payd mine hyre.”

— “An earlye vengeaunce light on her!”
The carlish Baron swore:
“Shee was my sister tolde thee this,
“And shee’s a misshapen whore.

“But here I will make mine avowe,
“To do her as ill a turne:
“For an ever I may that foule theefe gette,
“In a fyre I will her burne”—

PART II.

Homewarde pricked King Arthure,
And a wearye man was hee;
And soone he mette Queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.

— “What newes I what newes I thou noble King,
“Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?
“Where hast thou hung the carlish Knighte?
“And where bestow’d his head?” —

— “The carlish Knight is safe for mee,
“And free fro mortal harme:
“On magicke grounde his castle stands,
“And fenced with many a charme.

“To bowe to him I was fulle faine,
“And yielde mee to his hand;
“And but for a lothly Ladye, there
“I sholde have lost my land.

“And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,
“And sorrowe of my life;
“I swore a yonge and courtlye knight,
“Sholde marry her to his wife.” —

Then bespake him Sir Gawaine,
That was ever a gentle knighte:
— “That lothly Ladye I will wed;
“Therefore be merrye and lighte”—

— “Nowe naye, nowe naye, good Sir Gawaine;
“My sister’s sonne yee bee;
“This lothlye Ladye’s all too grirame,
“And all too foule for yee.

“Her nose is crookt, and turn’d outwardc;
“Her chin stands all awrye;
“A worse form’d ladye than shee is
“Was never seen with eye.” —

— “What though her chin stand all awrye,
“And shee be foule to see:
“I’ll marry her, unkle, for thy sake,
“And I’ll thy ransome bee.”—

— “Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine;
“And a blessing thee betyde!
“To-morrow wee’ll have knights and squires,
“And wee’ll goe fetch thy bride.

“And wee’ll have hawkes, and wee’ll have houndes,
“To cover our intent;
“And wee’ll away to the greene forest,
“As wee a hunting went—

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde,
They rode with them that daye;
And foremoste of the companye
There rode the stewarde Kaye:

Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore,
And eke Sir Garratte keene;
Sir Tristram too, that gentle knight,
To the forest freshe and greene.

And when they came to the greene forrest,
Beneathe a faire holley tree,
There sate that Ladye in red scarlette
That unseemelye was to see.

Sir Kay beheld that Lady’s face,
And looked upon her sweere;
— “Whoever kisses that Ladye,” he sayes,
“Of his kisse he stands in feare.” —

Sir Kay beheld that Ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout;
— “Whoever kisses that Ladye,” he sayes,
“Of his kisse he stands in doubt” —

— “Peace, brother Kay,” sayde Sir Gawaine,
“And amend thee of thy life;
“For there is a Knight amongst us all,
“Must marry her to his wife,”-—

— “What, marry this foule queane,” quoth Kay,
“I’ the devils name anone;
“Gett mee a wife wherever I maye,
“In sooth shee shall be none,”—

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,
And some tooke up their houndes;
And sayd they wolde not many her,
For cities, nor for townes.

Then bespake him King Arthure,
And sware there by this daye;
—“For a little foule sighte and mislikinge,
“Yee shall not say her naye.” —

— “Peace, Lordings, peace;” Sir Gawaine sayd;
“Nor make debate and strife;
“This lothlye Ladye I will take,
“And marry her to my wife”—

-— “Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good Sir Gawaine,
“And a blessinge be thy meede!
“For as I am thine owne ladye,
“Thou never shalt rue this deede.” —

Then up they took that lothly Dame,
And home anone they bringe:
And there Sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her with a ringe.

And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye:
— “Come turne to mee, mine owne wed-lord,
“Come turne to mee I praye.” —

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When, lo I instead of (hat lothelye Dame,
Hee sawe a young Ladye faire.

Sweet blushes stayned her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe:
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.

Sir Gawaine kiss’d that Lady faire,
Lying upon the sheete:
And swore, as he was a true Knighte,
The spice was never soe sweete.

Sir Gawaine kiss’d that Lady brighter
Lying there by his side:
— “The fairest flower is not soe faire:
“Thou never can st bee my bride.”—

— “I am thy bride, mine owne deare Lorde,
“The same whiche thou didst knowe,
“That was soe lothlye, and was wont
“Upon the wild more to goe.

“Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse,” quoth shee,
“And make thy choice with care;
“Whether by night, or else by daye,
“Shall I be foule or faire?” —

— “To have thee foule still in the night,
“When I with thee should playe!
“I had rather farre, my lady deare,
“To have thee foule by daye.”—

— “What, when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes
“To drinke the ale and wine;
“Alas I then I must hide myself,
“I must not goe with mine?”—

— “My faire ladye,” Sir Gawaine sayd,
“I yield me to thy skille;
“Because thou art mine owne ladye
“Thou shalt have all thy wille.” —

— “Nowe blessed be thou, sweete Gawaine,
“And the daye that I thee see;
“For as thou seest mee at this time,
“See shall I ever bee.

“My father was an aged knighte,
“And yet it chanced soe,
“He tooke to wife a false ladye,
“Whiche broughte me to this woe.

“Shee witch’d mee, being a faire yonge maide,
“In the greene forest to dwelle;
“And there to abyde in lothlye shape,
“Most like a fiend of helle.

“Midst mores and mosses; woods, and wilds;
“To lead a lonesome life:
“Till some yong faire and courtlye knighte,
“Wolde marrye me to his wife;

“Nor fully to gaine mine owne trewe shape,
“Such was her devilish skille;
“Until he wolde yielde to be ruled by mee,
“And let mee have all my wille.

“She witchd my brother to a carlish boore,
“And made him stiffe and stronge:
“And built him a bowre on magicke grounde,
“To live by rapine and wronge.

“But now the spelle is broken throughe,
“And wronge is turnde to righte;
“Henceforth I shall be a faire ladye,
“And hee be a gentle knighte,”—

As to the tale itself, Brock and Coulston focus on the “loathely lady” motif, and the extent to which Gawaine and Dame Ragnell is a parallel of Chaucer’s “The Wife of Bath”.

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnell, 1872

https://archive.org/details/originalsanalogu00furnuoft

Originals and analogues of some of Chaucer’s Canterbury tales by Furnivall, Frederick James, 1825-1910; Brock, Edmund; Clouston, W. A. (William Alexander), 1843-1896

Publication date [1872]

pp. 498-509

Judging from the number of versions still extant, this curious tale must have been a great favourite during the middle ages, when it was so much the fashion to decry women and example-books of their profligacy and trickery were rife. The story is the subject of two long ballads in the Percy folio MS., of one of which Prof. Child gives the outline in his English and Scottish Ballads, Boston (U.S.), 1884, Part ii., pp. 289, 290:

The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnell

ARTHUR, while hunting in Ingleswood, stalked and finally shot a great hart, which fell in a fern-brake. While the king, alone and far from his men, was engaged in making the assay, there appeared a groom, bearing the quaint name of Gromer Somer Joure, [Sir Gromer occurs in "The Turke and Gowin," Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, i., 102; Sir Grummore Grummorsum, "a good knight of Scotland," in Morte d' Arthur ed. Wright, i., 286, and elsewhere. Madden.] who grimly told him that he meant now to requite him for having taken away his lands. Arthur represented that it would be a shame to knighthood for an armed man to kill a man in green, and offered him any satisfaction. The only terms Gromer would grant were that Arthur should come back alone to that place that day twelvemonth, and then tell him what women love best; not bringing the right answer, he was to lose his head. The king gave his oath, and they parted. The knights, summoned by the king’s bugle, found him in heavy cheer, and the reason he would at first tell no man, but after a while he took Gawain into confidence. Gawain advised that they two should ride into strange country in different directions, put the question to every man and woman they met, and write the answers in a book. This they did, and each made a large collection. Gawain thought they could not fail, but the king was anxious, and considered that it would be prudent to spend the only month that was left in prosecuting the inquiry in the region of Ingleswood. Gawain agreed that it was good to be speering, and bade the king doubt not that some of his saws should help at need.

Arthur rode to Ingleswood, and met a lady riding on a richly caparisoned palfrey, but herself of a hideousness which beggars words; nevertheless the items are not spared. She came up to Arthur, and told him that she knew his counsel; none of his answers would help. If he would grant her one thing, she would warrant his life; otherwise, he must lose his head. This one thing was that she should be Gawain’s wife. The king said this lay with Gawain; he would do what he could, but it were a pity to make Gawain wed so foul a lady. “No matter,” she rejoined, “though I be foul, choice for a mate hath an owl. “When thou comest to thine answer, I shall meet thee; else art thou lost.”

The king returned to Carlisle with a heart no lighter, and the first man he saw was Gawain, who asked him how he had sped. Never so ill; he had met a lady who had offered to save his life, but she was the foulest he had ever seen, and the condition was that Gawain should be her husband. “Is that all?” said Gawain. “I will wed her once and again, though she were the devil; else were I no friend.” Well might the king exclaim, “Of all knights thou bearest the flower!”

After five or six days more the time came for the answer. The king had hardly ridden a mile into the forest when he met the lady, by name Dame Ragnell. He told her Gawain should wed her, and demanded her answer. “Some say this, and some say that, but above all things women desire to have the sovereignty; [See Note at the end of this paper: "Women desire Sovereignty."] tell this to the knight; he will curse her that told thee, for his labour is lost.” Arthur, thus equipped, rode on as fast as he could go, through mire and fen. Gromer was waiting, and sternly demanded the answer. Arthur offered his two books, for Dame Ragnell had told him to save himself by any of those answers if he could. “Nay, nay, king,” said Grorner, “thou art but a dead man.” “Abide, Sir Gromer, I have an answer shall make all sure. Women desire sovereignty.”

“She that told thee that was my sister, Dame Ragnell. I pray, I may see her burn on a fire.” And so they parted.

Dame Ragnell was also waiting for Arthur, and would hear of nothing but immediate fulfilment of her bargain. She followed the king to his court, and required him to produce Gawain instantly, who came and plighted his troth. The queen begged her to be married privately, and early in the morning. Dame Ragnell would consent to no such arrangement. She would not go to church till high-mass time, and she would dine in the open hall. At her wedding she was dressed more splendidly than the queen, and she sat at the head of the table at the dinner afterwards. There her appetite was all but as horrible as her person: she ate three capons, three curlews, and great bake meats all that was set before her, less and more.

A leaf is wanting now, but what followed is easily imagined. She chided Gawain for his offishness, and begged him to kiss her, at least. “I will do more,” said Gawain, and, turning, beheld the fairest creature he ever saw. But the transformed lady told him that her beauty would not hold: he must choose whether she should be fair by night and foul by day, or fair by day and foul by night. [In the Gaelic tale of "The Hoodie " (Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, i., 63) we find a similar choice. The hoodie, a kind of crow, having married the youngest of a farmer's three daughters, says to her: "Whether would'st thou rather that I should be a hoodie by day and a man at night, or be a hoodie at night and a man by day?" The woman does not leave the decision to him: "I would rather that thou wert a man by day and a hoodie at night," she replies. After this he was a splendid fellow by day and a hoodie at night. — It is a common occurrence in popular tales for the hero to have one shape at night and another by day. Thus in the Norse tale, "East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon" (Daseut), a girl is married to a white bear, who becomes a man every night, and before daybreak changes back into a bear and goes off for the day. And in Indian fictions we often read of a girl being married to a serpent who casts aside his skin at night and assumes the form of a man. When this is discovered by his wife she burns the skin while he is asleep, and henceforth he appears only as a man.] Gawain said the choice was hard, and left all to her. “Gramercy,” said the lady, “thou shalt have me fair both day and night.” Then she told him that her step-dame had turned her into that monstrous shape by necromancy, not to recover her own till the best knight in England had wedded her and given her sovereignty in all points.

A charming little scene follows, in which Arthur visits Gawain in the morning, fearing lest the fiend may have slain him.

1 This is the scene in the bridal chamber next morning:

[715] I telle you, in certeyne,
Withe joye & myrthe they wakyde tylle daye,
And thane wolde rise that fayre maye, `[mayd, MS.]`
'Ye shalle nott.' sir Gawene sayde;
'We wolle lye, & slepe tylle pryme,
[720] And thene lett the kyng calle vs to dyne.'
'I ame greed,' then sayde the mayde.
Thus itt passyde forth tylle mid-daye.
'Syrs,' `[Syr, MS.]` quode the kyng, 'lett vs go ande asaye,
Yf sir Gawene be one lyve.
[725] I ame fulle ferde of sir Gawene
Nowe, lest the fende haue hyme slayne;
Nowe wolde I fayne preve.
Go we nowe,' sayde Arthoure the kyng,
'We wolle go se theyr vprysing,
[730] How welle that he hathe spede.'
They came to the chambre, alle in certeyne;
'Aryse,' sayde the kyng to sir Gawene,
'Why slepyst thou so long in bede?'
'Mary,' quode Gawene, 'sir kyng, sicurly,
[735] I wolde be glade ande ye wolde lett me be,
For I am fulle welle att eas;
Abyde, ye shalle se the dore vndone,
I trowe that ye wolle say I am welle goone,
I ame full lothe to ryse.'
[740] Sir Gawene rose, ande in his hande he toke
His fayr lady, ande to the dore he shoke,
Ande opynyde the dore fulle fayre;
She stode in her smoke alle by that syre,
Her her `[ hed, MS.]` was to her knees as rede as golde wyre,
745 'Lo! this is my repayre.
Lo!' sayde Gawene Arthoure vntille,
'Syr, this is my wife, dame Ragnelle,
That sauyde onys yor lyfe.'
He tolde the kyng and the queene heme beforne,
[750] Howe sodenly frome her shap she dyde torne,
'My lorde, nowe be yowr leve.'
Ande whate was the cause she forshapene was,
Syr Gawene told the kyng, bothe more ande lesse.

On this ballad, Sir F. Madden suggests, was founded that of the “Marriage of Sir Gawaine,” which Percy printed, supplying from conjecture the lacunae, in the first edition of his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, 1765, and the two subsequent editions. It is thus given in the Percy Folio MS., edited by Drs. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i., and reproduced by Prof. Child:

The Marriage of Sir Gawaine

[King Arthur is at Carlisle, keeping a merry Christmas.]

[1] Kinge Arthur liues in merry Carlisle,
And seemely is to see,
And there he hath with him Queene Genever,
That bride soe bright of blee.

[2] And there he hath with him Queene Genever,
That bride soe bright in bower,
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.

[3] The king kept a royall Christmasse,
Of mirth and great honor,
And when …

---

['And for ransom bring me word what is the great desire of women.' Arthur agrees to these terms, and goes back to Carlisle, moaning. Arthir tells Gawain of his encounter with the Baron at Tearne Wadling, and that to get of fighting him, he must find out, by New Year's Day, what a woman most desires. Arthur sets forth to fulfil his engagement. Crossing a moor, he sees a very hideous lady,]

[4] ‘And bring me word what thing it is
That a woman [doth] most desire;
This shall be thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
For he haue noe other hier.’

[5] King Arthur then held vp his hand,
According thene as was the law;
He tooke his leaue of the baron there,
And hoinward can ['gan, began.] he draw.

[6] And when he came to merry Carlile,
To his chamber he is gone,
And ther came to him his cozen Sir Gawaine,
As he did make his mone.

[7] And there came to him his cozen Sir Gawaine,
That was a curteous knight;
Why sigh you soe sore, vncle Arthur,’ he said, ‘Or who hath done thee vnright?’

[8] ‘O peace, O peace, thou gentle Gawaine,
That faire may thee beffall!
For if thou knew my sighing soe deepe,
Thou wold not meruaile att all.

[9] ‘Ffor when I came to Tearne Wadling, [A town in Inglewood Forest, near Hesketh, in Cumberland; sometimes written Tearne Wathelyne.]
A bold barron there I fand,
With a great club vpon his backe,
Standing stiife and strong.

[10] ‘And he asked me wether I wold fight
Or from him I shold begone,
O[r] else I must him a ransome pay,
And soe depart him from.

[11] ‘To fight with him I saw noe cause;
Methought it was not meet;
For he was stiffe and strong with-all,
His strokes were nothing sweete.

[12] ‘Therefor this is my ransome, Gawaine,
I ought to him to pay;
I must come againe, as I am sworne,
Vpon the New Yeers day;

[13] ‘And I must bring him word what thing it is
[That a woman doth most desire.]

---

[14] Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde,
In one soe rich array,
Toward the fore-said Tearne Wadling,
Thai he might keepe his day.

[15] And as he rode over a more,
Hee see a lady where shee sate
Betwixt an oke and a greene hollen;
She was cladd in red Scarlett. [This was a common phrase in our old writers: so Chaucer, in his Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, says of the Wife of Bath: "Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red." — Percy.]

[with one eye instead of her mouth, and a crooked pose. She asks, 'Who are you? Fear not me. Perhaps I may succour you.' 'Succour me, and Gawain shall marry you.']

[16] Then there as shold haue stood her mouth,
Then there was sett her eye;
The other was in her forhead fast,
The way that she might see.

[17] Her nose was crooked and turnd outward,
Her mouth stood foule a-wry;
A worse formed lady than shee was,
Neuer man saw with his eye.

[18] To halch vpon him, King Arthur,
This lady was full faine,
But King Arthur had forgott his lesson
What he shold say againe.

[19] ‘What knight art thou,’ the lady sayd,
That will not speak to me?
Of me be thou nothing dismayd,
Tho I be vgly to see.

[20] For I haue halched you curteouslye,
And you will not me againe;
Yett I may happen, Sir Knight,’ shee said,
To ease thee of thy paine.’

[21] ‘Giue thou ease me, lady,’ he said,
Or helpe me in any thing,
Thou shalt have gentle Gawaine, my cozen,
And marry him with a ring.’

[22] ‘Why, if I help thee not, thou noble King Arthur,
Of thy owne hearts desiringe,
Of gentle Gawaine ….

[At the tarn he finds the Baron, who thinks Arthur cannot produce the ransom or answer, and claims him and his land. Arthur bids him wait a bit, then gives the answer: 'A woman will have her will.' The Baron curses the lady (his sister, it turns out).]

[23] And when he came to the Tearne Wadling,
The baron there cold he finde,
With a great weapon on his backe,
Standing stiffe and stronge.

[24] And then he tooke ‘King Arthur’s letters in his hands,
And away he cold them fling,
And then he puld out a good browne sword,
And cryd himselfe a king.

[25] And he sayd, ‘I have thee and thy land, Arthur,
To doe as it pleaseth me,
For this is not thy ransome sure,
Therfore yeeld thee to me.’

[26] And then bespoke him noble Arthur,
And bad him hold his hand:
And giue me leaue to speake my mind
In defence of all my land.’

[27] He said, ‘As I came over a more,
I see a lady where shee sate
Betweene an oke and a green hollen;
Shee was clad in red scarlett.

[28] ‘And she says a woman will haue her will,
And this is all her cheef desire:
Doe me right, as thou art a baron of sckill,
This is thy ransome and all thy hyer.’

[29] He sayes, ‘An early vengeance light on her!
She walkes on yonder more;
It was my sister that told thee this,
And she is a misshappen hore.

[30] ‘But heer Ile make mine avow to God
To doe her an euill turne,
For an euer I may thate fowle theefe get,
In a fyer I will her burne.’

---

[A company of knights, riding out with the King and Sir Gawain meet the hag. Sir Kay does not fancy her to kiss. Sir Gawain bids him to be quiet, for one of them  must have her to wife. Sir Kay says he had rather perish than it should be he. The others are of the same mind. Arthur reproves his knights.]

[31] Sir Lancelott and Sir Steven bold, [Sir Steven does not occur (says Madden) in the Round Table romances.]
They rode with them that day,
And the formost of the company
There rode the steward Kay.

[32] Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore,
Sir Garrett [Banier, probably, according to the same authority, a mistake for Bediuer, the King's Constable — Tennyson's Bedivere. Bore is Bors de Gaunes (or Gannes), brother of Lionel. Garrett is Gareth, or Gaheriet, Sir Gawaine's younger brother. Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall.] with them soe gay,
Soe did Sir Tristeraru, thai gentle knight,
To the forrest fresh and gay.

[33] And when he came to the greene forrest,
Vnderneath a greene holly tree,
Their sate that lady in red scarlet
That vnseemly was to see.

[34] Sir Kay beheld this ladys face,
And looked vppon her swire;
Whosoeuer kisses this lady,’ he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in feare,’

[35] Sir Kay beheld the lady againe,
And looked vpon her snout;
Whosoeuer kisses this lady,’ he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in doubt.’

[36] ‘Peace, cozen Kay,’ then said Sir Gawaine,
Amend thee of thy life; For there is a knight amongst vs all,
That must marry her to his wife.’

[37] ‘What! wedd her to wiffe!’ then said Sir Kay,
In the diuells name anon!
Gett me a wiffe where-ere I may,
For I had rather be slaine!’

[38] Then some tooke vp their hawkes in hast,
And some tooke vp their hounds,
And some sware they wold not marry her
For citty nor for towne.

[39] And then be-spake him noble King Arthur,
And sware there by this day,
‘For a litle foule sight and misliking

---

[Gawain's bride asks whether her foul by day or night. Gawain answers, 'By day.' 'Then i must hide from your companions.' 'No; do as you like.' 'Bless you, Gawain, you have cured me. I was witched into the likeness of a fiend.']

[40] Then shee said, ‘Choose thee, gentle Gawaine,
Truth as I doe say, win have her foul Wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse
In the night or else in the day.’

[41] And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,
Was one soe mild of moode,
Sayes, ‘Well I know what I wold say,
God grant it may be good!

[42] ‘To haue thee fowle in the night
When I with thee shold play
Yet I had rather, if I might,
Haue thee fowle in the day.’

[43] ‘What! when lords goe with ther feires,’ shee said
‘Both to the ale and wine,
Alas! then I must hyde my selfe,
I must not goe withinne.’

[44] And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,
Said, ‘Lady, that’s but skill;
And because thou art my owne lady
Thou shalt haue all thy will.’

[45] Then she said, ‘Blessed be thou, gentle Gawaine,
This day that I thee see,
For as thou seest me att this time,
From hencforth I wilbe.

[46] ‘My father was an old knight,
And yet it chanced soe
That he marryed a younge lady
That brought me to this woe.

[47] ‘Shee witched me, being a faire young lady,
To the greene forrest to dwell,
And there I must walke in womans liknesse,
Most like a feend of hell.

[48] ‘She witch my brother to a carlisli b …

---

['Kiss her, brother Kay', says Gawain, 'and regret your rudeness'. Kay kisses her, and congratulates Gawain. He and Kay take the lady between them, and lead her to King Arthur who thanks God for Gawain's bliss. All the knights rejoice.]

[49] … … That looked soe foule, and that was wont
On the wild more to goe.’

[50] ‘Come kisse her, brother Kay,’ then said Sir Gawaine,
And amend thé of thy liffe;
I sweare this is the same lady
That I marryed to my wiffe.’

[51] ‘Sir [Kay he] kissed that lady bright,
Standing vpon his ffeete;
He swore, as he was trew knight,
The spice was neuer soe svveete.

[52] ‘Well, cozen Gawaine,’ sayes Sir Kay,
Thy chance is fallen arright,
For thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids,
I euer saw with my sight.’

[53] ‘It is my fortune,’ said Sir Gawaine;
For my vncle Arthurs sake
I am glad as grasse wold be of raine,
Great ioy that I may take.’

[54] Sir Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme,
them, Sir Kay tooke her by the tother,
They led her straight to King Arthur,
As they were brother and brother.

[55] King Arthur welcomed them there all,
And soe did Lady Geneuer his queene,
With all the knights of the Round Table,
Most seemly to be seene.

[56] King Arthur beheld that lady faire
That was soe faire and bright,
He thanked Christ in Trinity
For Sir Gawame, that gentle knight.

[57] Soe did the knights, both more and lesse,
All the knights rejoice. Rejoyced all that day
For the good chance that happened was
To Sir Gawaine and his lady gay.

We can also find a summarised version of the tale, as well as additional commentary, in The English and Scottish popular ballads.

Commentary in The English and Scottish popular ballads, 1884

https://archive.org/details/englishscottishp12chilrich/page/288/mode/2up

The English and Scottish popular ballads by Child, Francis James, 1825-1896; Kittredge, George Lyman, 1860-1941

Publication date 1884

Vol I, Part II

pp. 288-293

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAIN

Percy MS., p. 46. Hales & Furnivall, 1, 105; Madden’s Syr Gawayne, p. 288; Percy’s Reliques, ed. 1794, III, 350.

We have here again half a ballad, in seven fragments, but the essentials of the story, which is well known from other versions, happen to be preserved, or may be inferred.

Arthur, apparently some day after Christmas, had been encountered at Tarn Wadling, [Still so called: near Aiketgate, Hesket. Lysons, Cumberland, p. 112.] in the forest of Inglewood, by a bold baron armed with a club, who offered him the choice of fighting, or ransoming himself by coming back on New Year’s day and bringing word what women most desire. Arthur puts this question in all quarters, and having collected many answers, in which, possibly, he had little confidence, he rides to keep his day. On the way he meets a frightfully ugly woman; she intimates that she could help him. Arthur promises her Gawain in marriage, if she will, and she imparts to him the right answer. Arthur finds the baron waiting for him at the tarn, and presents first the answers which he had collected and written down. These are contemptuously rejected. Arthur then says that he had met a lady on a moor, who had told him that a woman would have her will. The baron says that the misshapen lady on the moor was his sister, and he will burn her if he can get hold of her. Upon Arthur’s return he tells his knights that he has a wife for one of them, and they ride with the king to see her, or perhaps for her to make her choice. When they see the bride, they decline the match in vehement terms, all but Gawain, who is somehow led to waive “a little foul sight and misliking” She is bedded in all her repulsiveness, and turns to a beautiful young woman. To try Gawain’s compliance further, she asks him whether he will have her in this likeness by night only or only by day. Putting aside his own preference, Gawain leaves the choice to her, and this is all that is needed to keep her perpetually beautiful. For a stepmother had witched her to go on the wild moor in that fiendly shape until she should meet some knight who would let her have all her will. Her brother, under a like spell, was to challenge men either to fight with him at odds or to answer his hard question.

These incidents, with the variation that Arthur (who does not show all his customary chivalry in this ballad) waits for Gawain’s consent before he promises him in marriage, are found in a romance, probably of the fifteenth century, printed in Madden’s Syr Gawayne, and somewhat hastily pronounced by the editor to be “unquestionably the original of the mutilated poem in the Percy folio.” ['The Weddynge of Sr Gawen and Dame Ragnell,' Rawlinson MS., C 86, Bodleian Library, the portion containing the poem being paper, and indicating the close of Henry VII's reign. The poem is in six-line stanzas, and, with a leaf that is wanting, would amount to about 925 lines. Madden's Sir Gawayne, lxiv, lxvii, 26, 298a-298y.]

Arthur, while hunting in Ingleswood, stalked and finally shot a great hart, which fell in a fern-brake. While the king, alone and far from his men, was engaged in making the assay, there appeared a groom, bearing the quaint name of Gromer Somer Joure, [Sir Gromer occurs in "The Turke and Gowin," Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, I, 102; Sir Grummore Grummorsum, "a good knight of Scotland," in Morte d' Arthur; ed. Wright, I, 286 and elsewhere (Madden).] who grimly told him that he meant now to requite him for having taken away his lands. Arthur represented that it would be a shame to knighthood for an armed man to kill a man in green, and offered him any satisfaction. The only terms Gromer would grant were that Arthur should come back alone to that place that day twelvemonth, and then tell him what women love best; not bringing the right answer, he was to lose his head. The king gave his oath, and they parted. The knights, summoned by the king’s bugle, found him in heavy cheer, and the reason he would at first tell no man, but after a while took Gawain into confidence. Gawain advised that they two should ride into strange country in different directions, put the question to every man and woman they met, and write the answers in a book. This they did, and each made a large collection. Gawain thought they could not fail, but the king was anxious, and considered that it would be prudent to spend the only month that was left in prosecuting the inquiry in the region of Ingleswood. Gawain agreed that it was good to be speering, and bade the king doubt not that some of his saws should help at need.

Arthur rode to Ingleswood, and met a lady, riding on a richly-caparisoned palfrey, but herself of a hideousness which beggars words; nevertheless the items are not spared. She came up to Arthur and told him that she knew his counsel; none of his answers would help. If he would grant her one thing, she would warrant his life; otherwise, he must lose his head. This one thing was that she should be Gawain’s wife. The king said this lay with Gawain; he would do what he could, but it were a pity to make Gawain wed so foul a lady. “No matter,” she rejoined, “though I be foul: choice for a mate hath an owl. When thou comest to thine answer, I shall meet thee; else art thou lost.”

The king returned to Carlisle with a heart no lighter, and the first man he saw was Gawain, who asked how he had sped. Never so ill: he had met a lady who had offered to save his life, but she was the foulest he had ever seen, and the condition was that Gawain should be her husband. “Is that all?” said Gawain. “I will wed her once and again, though she were the devil; else were I no friend.” Well might the king exclaim, “Of all knights thou bearest the flower!”

After five or six days more the time came for the answer. The king had hardly ridden a mile into the forest when he met the lady, by name Dame Ragnell. He told her Gawain should wed her, and demanded her answer. “Some say this and some say that, but above all things women desire to have the sovereignty; tell this to the knight; he will curse her that told thee, for his labor is lost.” Arthur, thus equipped, rode on as fast as he could go, through mire and fen. Gromer was waiting, and sternly demanded the answer. Arthur offered his two books, for Dame Ragnell had told him to save himself by any of those answers if he could. “Nay, nay, king,” said Gromer, “thou art but a dead man.” “Abide, Sir Gromer, I have an answer shall make all sure. Women desire sovereignty.” “She that told thee that was my sister, Dame Ragnell; I pray I may see her burn on a fire.” And so they parted.

Dame Ragnell was waiting for Arthur, too, and would hear of nothing but immediate fulfillment of her bargain. She followed the king to his court, and required him to produce Gawain instantly, who came and plighted his troth. The queen begged her to be married privately, and early in the morning. Dame Ragnell would consent to no such arrangement. She would not go to church till highmass time, and she would dine in the open hall. At her wedding she was dressed more splendidly than the queen, and she sat at the head of the table at the dinner afterwards. There her appetite was all but as horrible as her person: she ate three capons, three curlews, and great bake meats, all that was set before her, less and more. [See 'King Henry,' the next ballad.]

A leaf is wanting now, but what followed is easily imagined. She chided Gawain for his offishness, and begged him to kiss her, at least. “I will do more,” said Gawain, and, turning, beheld the fairest creature he ever saw. But the transformed lady told him that her beauty would not hold: he must choose whether she should be fair by night and foul by day, or fair by day and foul by night. [The Gaelic tale of 'The Hoodie' offers a similar choice. The hoodie, a species of crow, having married the youngest of a farmer's three daughters, says to her, "Whether wouldst thou rather that I should be a hoodie by day and a man at night, or be a hoodie at night and a man by day?" The woman maintains her proper sovereignty, and does not leave the decision to him: "'I would rather that thou wert a man by day and a hoodie at night,' says she. After this he was a splendid fellow by day, and a hoodie at night." Campbell, Popular Tales of the West Highlands, I, 63. The having one shape by day and another by night is a common feature in popular tales: as, to be a bear by day and a man by night, Hrolfr Kraki's Saga, c. 26, Asbjørnsen og Moe, Norske Folkeeventyr, No 41; a lion by day and a man by night, Grimms, K. u. H. m.. No 88; a crab by day and a man by night, B. Schmidt, Griechische Marchen, u. s. w., No 10; a snake by day and a man by night, Karadshitch, Volksmärchen der Serben, Nos 9, 10; a pumpkin by day and a man by night, A. & A. Schott, Walachische Maerchen, No 23; a ring by day, a man by night, Müllenhoff, No 27, p. 466, Karadshitch, No 6, Afanasief, VI, 189. Throe princes in 'Kung Lindorm,' Nicolovius, Folklifwet, p. 48 ff, are cranes by day and men by night, the king himself being man by day and worm by night. The double shape is sometimes implied though not mentioned.] Gawain said the choice was hard, and left all to her. “Gramercy,” said the lady, “thou shalt have me fair both day and night.” Then she told him that her step-dame had turned her into that monstrous shape by necromancy, not to recover her own till the best knight in England had wedded her and given her sovereignty in all points. [The brother, Gromer Somer Joure, was a victim of the same necromancy; so the Carl of Carlile, Percy MS., Hales & Furnivall, III, 291.] A charming little scene follows, vv 715-99, in which Arthur visits Gawain in the morning, fearing lest the fiend may have slain him. Something of this may very likely have been in that half page of the ballad which is lost after stanza 48.

Gower and Chancer both have this tale, though with a different setting, and with the variation, beyond doubt original in the story, that the man whose life is saved by rightly answering the question has himself to marry the monstrous woman in return for her prompting him.

Gower relates, Confessio Amantis, Book First, I, 89-104, ed. Pauli, that Florent, nephew of the emperor, as Gawain is of Arthur, slew Branchus, a man of high rank. Branchus’s kin refrained from vengeance, out of fear of the emperor; but a shrewd lady, grandmother to Branchus, undertook to compass Florent’s death in a way that should bring blame upon nobody. She sent for Florent, and told him that she would engage that he should not be molested by the family of Branchus if he could answer a question she would ask. He was to have a proper allowance of time to find the answer, but he was also to agree that his life should be forfeited unless his answer were right. Florent made oath to this agreement, and sought the opinions of the wisest people upon the subject, but their opinions were in no accord. Considering, therefore, that he must default, he took leave of the emperor, adjuring him to allow no revenge to be taken if he lost his life, and went to meet his fate. But on his way through a forest he saw an ugly old woman, who called to him to stop. This woman told him that he was going to certain death, and asked what he would give her to save him. He said, anything she should ask, and she required of him a promise of marriage. That he would not give. “Ride on to your death, then,” said she. Florent began to reflect that the woman was very old, and might be hidden away somewhere till she died, and that there was no other chance of deliverance, and at last pledged his word that he would marry her if it should turn out that his life could be saved only through the answer that she should teach him. She was perfectly willing that he should try all other shifts first, but if they failed, then let him say that women cared most to be sovereign in love. Florent kept back this answer as long as he could. None of his own replies availed, and the lady who presided in judgment at last told him that he could be allowed but one more. Then he gave the old woman’s answer, and was discharged, with a curse on her that told. [And whan that this matrone herde, The maner how this knight answerde, She saide, Ha, treson, wo the be! That hast thus told the privete, Which alle women most desire: I wolde that thou were a-fire! So Sir Gawen and Dame Ragnell, vv 474 f, and our ballad, stanzas 29, 30.]

The old woman was waiting for Florent, and he now had full leisure to inspect all her points; but he was a knight, and would hold his troth. He set her on his horse before him, rode by night and lay close by day, till he came to his castle. There the ladies made an attempt to attire her for the wedding, and she was the fouler for their pains. They were married that night. He turned away from the bride; she prayed him not to be so discourteous. He turned toward her, with a great moral effort, and saw (for the chamber was full of light) a lady of eighteen, of unequalled beauty. As he would have drawn her to him she forbade, and said he must make his choice, to have her such by day or by night. “Choose for us both,” was his reply. “Thanks,” quoth she, “for since you have made me sovereign, I shall be both night and day as I am now.” She explained that, having been daughter of the king of Sicily, her stepmother had forshapen her, the spell to hold till she had won the love and the sovereignty of what knight passed all others in good name.

The scene of Chaucer’s tale, The Wife of Bath, returns to Arthur’s court. One of the bachelors of the household, when returning from hawking, commits a rape, for which he is condemned to death. But the queen and other ladies intercede for him, and the king leaves his life at the disposal of the queen. The queen, like the shrewd lady in Gower, but with no intent to trapan the young man, says that his lite shall depend upon his being able to tell her what women most desire, and gives him a year and a day to seek an answer. He makes extensive inquiries, but there is no region in which two creatures can be found to be of the same mind, and he turns homeward very downcast.

On his way through a wood he saw a company of ladies dancing, and moved towards them, in the hope that he might learn something. But ere he came the dancers had vanished, and all he found was the ugliest woman conceivable sitting on the green. She asked the knight what he wanted, and he told her it was to know what women most desire. “Plight me thy troth to do the next thing I ask of thee, and I will tell thee.” He gave his word, and she whispered the secret in his ear.

The court assembled, the queen herself sitting as justice, and the knight was commanded to say what thing women love best. He made his response triumphantly; there was no dissenting voice. But as soon as he was declared to have ransomed his life, up sprang the old woman he had met in the wood. She had taught the man his answer, he had plighted his word to do the first thing she asked of him, and now she asked him to make her his wife. The promise was not disputed, but the poor youth begged her to make some other request; to take all he had in the world, and let him go. She would not yield, and they were married the next day. When they have gone to bed, the old wife, “smiling ever mo,” rallies her husband for his indifference, and lectures him for objecting to ugliness, age, and vulgar birth, which things, she says, are a great security for him, and then gives him his election, to have her ugly and old as she is, but true, or young and fair, with the possible contingencies. The knight has the grace to leave the decision to her. “Then I have the sovereignty,” she says, “and I will be both fair and good; throw up the curtain and see.”

Fair and young she was, and they lived to their lives’ end in perfect joy.

Chaucer has left out the step-mother and her bewitchment, and saves, humbles, and rewards the young knight by the agency of a good fairy; for the ugly old woman is evidently such by her own will and for her own purposes. She is “smiling ever mo,” and has the power, as she says, to set “all right whenever she pleases. Her fate is not dependent on the knight’s compliance, though his is.

The Wife of Bath’s Tale is made into a ballad, or what is called a sonnet, ‘Of a Knight and a Fair Virgin,’ in The Crown Garland of Golden Roses, compiled by Richard Johnson, not far from 1600: see the Percy Society reprint, edited by W. Chappell, vol. vi of the series, p. 68. Upon Chaucer’s story is founded Voltaire’s tale, admirable in its way, of Ce qui plait aux Dames, 1762; of which the author writes, 1765, November 4, that it had had great success at Fontainebleau in the form of a comic opera, entitled La Fée Urgèle. [This was a melodrama by Favart, in four acts: reduced in 1821 to one act, at the Gymnase.] The amusing ballad of The Knight and Shepherd’s Daughter has much in common with the Wife of Bath’s Tale, and might, if we could trace its pedigree, go back to a common original. [Chaucer's tale is commonly said to be derived from Gower's, but without sufficient reason. Vv 6507-14, ed. Tyrwhitt, are close to Dame Ragnell, 409-420. Gower may have got his from some Example-book. I have not seen it remarked, and therefore will note, that Example books may have been known in England as early as 1000, for Aelfric seems to speak slightingly of them in his treatise on the Old Testament. The Proverbs, he says, is a "bigspellbóe, *ná swilce ge secgao*, ac wísdómes bigspell and warnung wio dysig," etc.]

Tales resembling the Marriage of Gawain must have been widely spread during the Middle Ages. The ballad of ‘King Henry’ has much in common with the one now under consideration, and Norse and Gaelic connections, and is probably much earlier. At present I can add only one parallel out of English, and that from an Icelandic saga.

Grímr was on the verge of marriage with Lopthaena, but a week before the appointed day the bride was gone, and nobody knew what had become of her. Her father had given her a step-mother five years before, and the step-mother had been far from kind; but what then? Grímr was restless and unhappy, and got no tidings. A year of scarcity coming, he left home with two of his people. After an adventure with four trolls, he had a fight with twelve men, in which, though they were all slain, he lost his comrades and was very badly wounded. As he lay on the ground, looking only for death, a woman passed, if so she might be called; for she was not taller than a child of seven years, so stout that Grímr’s arms would not go round her, misshapen, bald, black, ugly, and disgusting in every particular. She came up to Grimr, and asked him if he would accept his life from her. “Hardly,” said he, “you are so loathsome.” But life was precious, and he presently consented. She took him up and ran with him, as if he were a babe, till she came to a large cave; there she set him down, and it seemed to Grfmr that she was uglier than before. “Now pay me for saving your life,” she said, “and kiss me.” “I cannot,” said Grimr, “you look so diabolical.” “Expect no help, then, from me,” said she, “and I see that it will soon be all over with you.” “Since it must be, loath as I am,” said Grímr, and went and kissed her; she seemed not so bad to kiss as to look at. When night came she made up a bed, and asked Grímr whether he would lie alone or with her. “Alone,” he answered. “Then,” said she, “I shall take no pains about healing your wounds.” Grímr said he would rather lie with her, if he had no other chance, and she bound up his wounds, so that he seemed to feel no more of them. No sooner was Grímr abed than he fell asleep, and when he woke, he saw lying by him almost the fairest woman he had ever laid eyes on, and marvellously like his true-love, Lopthaena. At the bedside he saw lying the troll-casing which she had worn; he jumped up and burned this. The woman was very faint; he sprinkled her with water, and she came to, and said. It is well for both of us; I saved thy life first, and thou hast freed me from bondage. It was indeed Lopthaena, whom the step-mother had transformed into a horrible shape, odious to men and trolls, which she should never come out of till a man should consent to three things, — which no man ever would, — to accept his life at her hands, to kiss her, and to share her bed. Gríms saga looinkinna, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, II, 143-52.

Sir Fredei’ic Madden, in his annotations upon this ballad, ‘Syr Gawayne,’ p. 359, remarks that Sir Steven, stanza 31, does not occur in the Round Table romances; that Sir Banier, 32, is probably a mistake for Beduer, the king’s constable; and that Sir Bore and Sir Garrett, in the same stanza, are Sir Bors de Gauves, brother of Lionel, and Gareth, or Gaheriet, the younger brother of Gawain.

[Then gives at pp. 293-6, 'The Marriage of Sir Gawaine,' as filled out by Percy from the fragments in his manuscript, Reliques, 1765, III, 11, is translated by Bodmer, I, 110; by Bothe, p. 75; by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 135.]

In his Dissertation on romance and minstrelsy, Joseph Ritson reviews Percy’s publication of the Dame Ragnell poem and compares versions that appear in the 1775 and 1795 editions of Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.

In “Dissertation on romance and minstrelsy”, Ritson, 1891

https://archive.org/details/cu31924013358050/page/n59/mode/2up?q=gaWayne A dissertation on romance and minstrelsy by Ritson, Joseph, 1752-1803; Chrétien, de Troyes, 12th cent

Publication date 1891

p57-70

Several metrical romances, according to Bishop Percy’s account, are extant in his lordship’s celebrated folio manuscript, many of which are not to be now found in print; amongst these are the following:— Sir Cauline, John the Reve, Guy and Colbronde, Libeaux Disconius (a different copy from the one here printed), King Arthur and the King of Cornwall, Sir Lionel, The Greene Knight, The Earl of Carlisle, Sir Lambwell, Merline, King Arthur’s Death, The Legend of King Arthur, The Legend of Sir Guy, Eger and Grime, and many songs and ballads. The MS. (compiled by Thomas Blount, author of The Law-Dictionary, etc., about the middle of the seventeenth century), as we are told by the right reverend prelate, [The "advertisement" is signed "Thomas Percy, fellow of St. John's College, Oxford," his lordship's nephew, whom the late Mister Steevens assured the present editor to have never seen a word of it.] is a long narrow volume, containing igi sonnets, ballads, historical songs, and metrical romances, either in the whole or in part, for many of them are extremely mutilated and imperfect.

“The first and last leaves,” he says, “are wanting; and of 54 pages near the beginning half of every leaf hath been torn away, and several others are injured towards the end; besides that through a great part of the volume the top or bottom line, and sometimes both, have been cut off in the binding.” … The transcripts moreover “are sometimes extremely incorrect and faulty, being in such instances probably made from defective copies, or the imperfect recitation of illiterate fingers, so that a considerable portion of the song or narrative is sometimes omitted, and miserable trash or nonsense not unfrequently introduced into pieces of considerable merit:” the copyist, it seems, often growing “so weary of his labour as to write on without the least attention to the sense or meaning: so that the word which should form rhyme is found misplaced in the middle of the line; and we have such blunders as these, want and will for wanton will; even pan and wale for wan and pale, etc., etc.” Certainly this is a most extraordinary, as well as unfortunate, book, and the labour of the right reverend editor in correcting, refining, improving, completing, and enlarging the orthography, grammar, text, style, and supplying the chasms and hiatuses, valdè deflenda! must have equalled that of Hercules in cleansing the Augean stable: so that a parcel of old rags and tatters were thus ingeniously and haply converted into an elegant new suit.

The existence and authenticity of this famous MS. in its present mutilated and miserable condition is no longer to be denied or disputed; at the same time, it is a certain and positive fact, that, in the elegant and refined work it gave occasion to, there is scarcely one single poem, song, or ballad, fairly or honestly printed, either from the above fragment or other alleged authorities, from the beginning to the end; many pieces, also, being inserted, as ancient and authentic, which there is every reason to believe never existed before its publication. To correct the obvious errors of an illiterate transcriber, to supply irremediable defects, and to make sense of nonsense, are certainly essential duties of an editor of ancient poetry, provided he act with integrity and publicity; but secretly to suppress the original text, and insert his own fabrications for the sake of providing more refined entertainment for readers of taste and genius, is no proof of either judgment, candour, or integrity.

In what manner this ingenious editor conducted himself in this patched-up publication will be evident from the following parallel, which may be useful to future manufacturers in this line:—

The Marriage of Sir Gawaine. [The lines or words marked with elevated commas are substitutions in place of the old readings. The whole in italics is his own.]

The original (printed in large type) from Reliques, edition 1795, iii., 350. The improvement (printed in small type [TH: Courier font]) from Reliques, edition 1775, iii., 11.

“King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there he hath with him queen Genever,
That bride so bright of blee.

King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there " with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.

And there he hath with him queen Genever,
That bride so bright in bower,
And all his barons about him stoode.
That were both stiffe and stowre.

And there "with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre;
And all his barons about him stoode
That were both stiffe and stowre.

The king kept a royall Christmasse
Of mirth and great honor,
… when …

[About nine stanzas wanting].

The king "a royale Christmasse kept,"
"With" mirth and "princelye cheare,"
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came bothfarre and neare.

And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round;
Before them came a f aire damselle.
And knelt upon the ground.

A boone, a boone, O kinge Arthure,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and mee.

At Tearne-Wadling his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,
And proudlye rise the battlements.
And streamers deck the air.

Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay,
May passe that castle-walle;
But from thatfoule discourteous knighte
Mishappe will them befalle.

Hee’s twyce the size of common men,
Wi’ thewes, and sinewes strange.
And on his backe he bears a clubbe
That is both thicke and longe.

This grimme barbne ‘twas our hard happe,
But yester morne to see;
Went to his bowre he bare my love,
And sore misused mee.

And when I told him, king Arthùre,
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd hee, that cuckold kinge,
To meete mee if he dare.

Upp then steyted king Arthùre
And swave by hille and dale.
He ne’er wolde quitt that grimme baròne,
Till he had made him quail.

Go fetch my sword Excalibar;
Goe saddle mee my steede;
Now, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.

And when he came to Tearne Wadlinge,
Benethe the castle walk:
Come forth! come forth! thou provide baròne
Or yielde thyself my thralle.

On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenced with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread theron,
But straite his courage felle.

Forth then rush’d that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme,
His sturdy sinewes lost their strengthe,
Downe sunke his feeble arme.

Nowe yield thee, yield thee, king Arthùre, Now yield thee, unto mee.
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
No better termes maye bee.

Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne Wadling,
Upon the new-yeare’s daye;

And bring me word what thing it is
That? a woman most desire.
This shal be thy ransome Arthur, he sayes,
For He have noe other hier.

And bring me worde what thing it is,
"All" women moste desyre;
This "is" thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,
He have noe other hyre.

King Arthur then held up his hand
According thene as was the law.
He tooke his leave of the baron there
And homword can he draw.

King Arthur then held up his hande,
"And sware upon his faye,"
"Then" tooke his leave of the "grimme barone,"
And "faste hee rode awaye."

And when he came to merry Carlile,
To his chamber he is gone,
And ther cam to him his cozen, Sir Gawaine,
As he did make his mone.

And there came to him his cozen, Sir Gawaine,
That was a curteous knight,
Why sigh you soe sore unckle Arthur, he said,
Or who hath done thee unright?

O peace, O peace, thou gentle Gawaine,
That faire may thee befall;
For if thou knew my sighing soe deepe.
Thou wold not mervaille att all.

For when I came to Tearne Wadling,
A bold barren there I fand,
With a great club upon his backe
Standing stiffe and strong.

And he asked me wether I wold fight,
Or from him I shold be gone,
O[r] else I must him a ransome pay,
And soe depart him from.

To fight with him I saw noe cause,
Me thought it was not meet.
For he was stiffe and strong with all,
His strokes were nothing sweete.

Therfor this is my ransome Gawaine,
I ought to him to pay,
I must come againe as I am sworne,
Upon the new yeers day.

And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre.
What thing it is all women crave.
And what they most desyre.

And I must bring him word what thing it is
[About nine stanzas wanting].

Some told him riches, pompe, or state.
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe, some flatterye;
And some a jollye knight.

Then king Arthur drest him for to ryde,
In one so rich array.
Toward the foresaid Tearne Wadling,
That he might keepe his day.

In letters all king Arthur wrote.
And sealed them with his ringe;
But still his mind was helde in doubt,
Each told a different thinge.

And as he rode over a more,
Hee see a lady where shee sate,
Betwixt an oke and a greene hollen,
She was cladd in red Scarlett.

"As ruthfulle" he rode over a more,
He "saw" a ladye "sette,"
"Betweene an oke, and a greene "holléye,"
"All " clad in red scarlette.

Then there as shold have stood her mouth,
Then there was sett her eye;
The other was in her forehead fast,
The way that she might see.

Her nose was crookt and turnd outward;
Her "chin" stood "all" awrye;
"And where" as sholde have "been" her mouthe,
"Lo"! there was set her eye.

Her nose was crooked and turned outward
Her mouth stood foule awry,
A worse formed lady then shee was,
Never man saw with his eye.

Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute,
Her cheekes' of deadlye hewe:
A worse-formed lady than she was,
No man “mote ever viewe.”

To halch upon him, king Arthur,
The lady was full faine;
But king Arthur had forgott his lesson,
What he should say againe.

To "haile the king in seemelye sorte,"
"This" ladye was fulle faine;
But king Arthure "at fore amaz'd,"
"No aunswere made" againe.

What knight art thou, the lady sayd,
That wilt not speake to me?
Of me thou nothing [be] dismayed
Tho I be ugly to see.

What "wight" art thou, the ladye sayd.
That wilt not speake to mee;
"Sir, I may chance to ease thy paine,"
Though I be "foule" to see.

For I have halched you courteouslye.
And you will not me againe,
Yett I may happen, sir knight, shee said,
To ease thee of thy paine.

Give thou ease me, lady, he said,
Or helpe me anything.
Thou shalt have gentle Gawaine, my cozen,
And many him with a ring.

"If" thou (wilt) ease "my paine," he sayd,
"And" helpe me "in my neede";
"Ask what " thou wilt, thou grimme ladye,
And it shall be thy meede.

Why if I helpe thee not, thou noble king Arthur,
Of thy owne hearts desiringe,
Of gentle Gawaine ….
[About nine stanzas wanting].

O sweare mee this upon the roode,
And promise on thy faye;
And here the secrette I will telle,
That shall thy ransome paye.

King Arthur promised on his faye,
And sware upon the roode;
The secrette then the ladye told,
As lightlye well she cou’de.

Now this shall be my paye, sir king.
And this my guerdon bee,
That some yong, fair, and courtlye knighte,
Thou bringe to marrye mee.

Fast then pricked king Arthùre,
Ore hille, and dale, and downe;
And soone he founde the barone’s bowre;
And soone the grimme baròune.

And when he came to Teame Wadling
The baron there cold he frinde (finde),
With a great weapon on his backe,
Standing stiffe and stronge.

“He bare his clubbe” upon his backe,
“He stood bothe” stiffe and stronge;
“And when he had the letters reade
“Awaye” the lettres flunge.”

And then he tooke king Arthurs letters in his hands,
And away he cold them fling;
And then he puld out a good browne sword,
And cryd himself a King.

And he sayd, I have thee and thy land, Arthur,
To doe as it pleaseth mee;
For this is not thy ransome sure
Therfore yeeld thee to mee.

“Nowe yielde” thee, Arthur, and thy “lands,”
“All forfeit upto mee”;
For this is not thy “paye, sir king.
Nor many thy ransome bee.”

And then bespoke him, noble Arthur,
And bad him hold his hands;
And give me leave to speak my mind
In defence of all my land.

"Yet hold thy hand, thou proude barbne,"
"I pray thee" hold "thy" hand;
And give me leave to speak "once moe"
In "reskewe" of my land.

‘He’ said as I came over a more,
I see a lady where she Sate,
Betweene an oke and a green hollen,
She was clad in red scarlette.

"This morne," as I came over a more,
I "saw" a ladye "sette"
Between an oke, and a greene hollèye,
"All" clad in red scarlette.

And she says a woman will have her will,
And this is all her chief desire,
Doe me right as thou art a baron of sckill,
This is thy ransome and all thy hyer.

She sayes "all women" will have "their" wille,
This is "their" chief desyre;
"Now yield," as thou art a barone "true,"
"That I have payd mine hyre."

He sayes, an early vengence light on her,
She walkes on yonder more.
It was my sister that told thee this,
She is a mishappen hore.

An earlye vengeaunce light on her!
"The carlish baron swore;"
"Shee" was my sister tolde the this,
And "shee's" a mishapen whore.

But heer Ile make mine avow to god,
To do her an evill turne;
For an ever I may thate fowle theefe ge[t].
In a fyer I will her burne.
[About nine stanzas wanting.]

But here I will make mine avowe.
To do her "as ill a" turne,
For an ever I may that foule theefe gette.
In a fyre I will her burne.

PART THE SECOND.

Homewarde pricked king Arthure,
And a wearye man was he;
And soon he met queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.

What newes! what newes! thou noble king,
Howe, Arthur, hast thou sped?
Where hast thou hung the carlish knighte?
And where bestow’d his head?

The carlish knight is safe for mee.
And free fro mortal harme;
On magicke grounde his castle stands,
And fenc’d with many a charme.

To bowe to him I was fulle faine,
And yielde mee to his hand;
And but for a lothly ladye, there,
I sholde have lost my land.

And nowe this fills my hearte with woe,
And sorrowe of my life;
I swore a yonge and courtlye knight
Sholde marry her to his wife.

Then bespake him sir Gawaine,
That was ever a gentle knighte;
That lothly ladye I will wed;
Therefore be merrye and lighte.

Nowe naye, nowe naye, good sir Gawaine;
My sisters sonne yee bee;
This lothlye ladye’s all to grimme,
And all too foule for yee.

Her nose is crookt and tum’d outwàrde;
Her chin stands all awrye;
A worse formed ladye than she is.
Was never seen with eye.

What though her chin stand all awrye,
And shee be foule to see,
I’ll marry her, unkle, for thy sake,
And I’ll thy ransome bee.

Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gawaine,
And a blessing thee betyde,
Tomorrow wee’ll have knights and squires,
And wee’ll go fetch thy bride.

And wee’ll have hawkes and wee’ll have houndes.
To cover our intent;
And wee’ll away to the greene forest.
As wee a hunting went.

Sir Lancelot and Sir Steven bold,
They rode with them that day,
And the formost of the company
There rode the steward Kay.

Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde.
They rode with them that daye;
And foremost of the companye.
There rode the stewarde Kaye.

Soe did Sir Banier and Sir Bore,
Sir Garrett with them soe gay,
Soe did Sir Tristeram that gentle knight,
To the forrest fresh and gay.

Soe did sir Banier and sir Bore
"And eke sir Garratte keene";
Sir Tristram "too" that gentle knight,
To the forest freshe and "greene."

And when he came to the green forest,
Underneath a green holly tree,
There sate a lady in red scarlett
That unseemly was to see.

And when "they" came to the greene forrest
Beneathe a "faire" holley tree,
There sate that ladye in red scarlette,
That unseemelye was to see.

Sir Kay beheld this ladyes face.
And looked upon her suire;
Whosoever kisses this lady, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in feare.

Sir Kay beheld "that" lady's face,
And looked upon her sweere;
Whoever kisses "that" ladye, he sayes.
Of his kisse he stands in feere.

Sir Kay beheld the lady againe,
And looked upon her snout.
Whosoever kisses this lady, he saies,
Of his kisse he stands in doubt.

Sir Kay beheld "that" ladye againe,
And looked upon her snout;
Whoever kisses "that" ladye, he sayes,
Of his kisse he stands in doubt.

Peace, cozen Kay, then said Sir Gawaine
Amend thee of thy life;
For there is a knight amongst us all
That must marry her to his wife.

Peace, "brother" Kay, sayde Sir Gawaine,
And amend thee of thy life;
For there is a knight amongst us all,
Must marry her to his wife.

What wedd her to wiffe! then said Sir Kay,
In the divells name anon;
Get me a wiffe where-ere I may,
For I had rather be slaine.

What "marry this foule queene, quoth" Kay
In "the devil's" name anone;
Get mee a wife wherever I maye,
In sooth she shall be none."

Then some tooke up their hawkes in haste,
And some tooke up their hounds,
And some sware they wold not marry her,
For citty nor for towne.

Then some took up their hawkes in haste,
And some took up their houndes;
And "sayd" they wolde not marry her,
For cities, nor for townes.

And then bespake him noble king Arthur,
And sware there by this day,
For a litle foule fight and misliking
(about nine stanzas wanting).

Then bespake him king Arthure,
And sware there by this daye;
For a little foule fight and mislikinge,
Yee shall not say her naye.

Peace, Lordings, peace, Sir Gawaine sayd;
Nor make debate and strife;
This lothlye ladye I will take,
And marry her to my wife.

Nowe thankes, nowe thankes, good sir Gawaine,
And a blessinge be thy meede!
For as I am thine owne ladyè,
Thou never shall rue this deede.

Then up they took that lothly dame,
And home anone they bringe;
And there Sir Gawaine he her wed,
And married her with a ringe.

And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye;
“Come turn to mee mine owne wed-lord,
Come turn to mee I praye.”

Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When, lo! instead of fliat lothelye dame,
Hee same a young ladye faire.

Sweet blushes stayned her rud-red cheeke.
Her eyen were blacke as sloe;
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.

Sir Gawaine kissed that lady faire,
Lying upon the sheete;
And swore, as he was a true knighte,
The spice was never soe sweete.

Sir Gawaine kissed that lady bright,
Lying there by his side;
“The fairest flower is not soe faire;
Thou never canst bee my bride.”

I am thy bride, mine owne dear lorde,
The same which thou didst know,
That was so lothlye, and was wont
*Upon the wild more to goe.

Then shee said, choose thee, gentle Gawaine,
Truth as I doe say,
Wether thou wilt have (me) in this likenesse,
In the night or else in the day.

"Nowe, gentle Gawaine, chuse, quoth shee,"
"And make thy choice with care";
Whether "by night, or else by daye,"
"Shall I be foule or faire?"

And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,
With one soe mild of moode,
Sayes, well I know what I wold say,
God grant it may be goode,

To have thee fowle [still] in the night,
When I with thee should playe,
Yet I had rather, if I might,
Have thee fowle in the day.

To have thee foule (still) in the night,
When I with thee should playe,
"I had rather — farre, my lady deare,"
(To) have the foule 'by' daye.

What when lords goe with ther feires, shee said,
Both to the ale and wine,
Alas! then I must hyde myself,
I must not go withinne.

What when "gaye ladyes" goe with their "lordes,"
To (drinke) the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not go with "mine?"

And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,
Said, Lady thats but a skill,
And because thou are my owne lady,
Thou shalt have all thy will.

"My fair ladyè sir Gawaine sayd,"
"I yield me to thy" skille,
Because thou art mine owne ladyè,
Thou shalt have all thy wille.

Then she said, blessed be thou, gentle Gawaine,
This day that I thee see,
For as thou see me att this time,
From henceforth I wil bee.

"Now" bless'd be thou, "sweete" Gawaine,
(And) " the " day that I thee see;
For as thou seest me at this time,
"Soe shall I ever bee."

My father was an old knight,
And yett it chanced soe,
That he marryed a younge lady,
That brought me to this woe.

My father was an "aged" knight,
And yet it chanced soe,
He "tooke to wife" a "false" ladyè,
"Whiche" broughte me to this woe.

Shee witched me, being a faire young lady,
To the greene forrest to dwell,
And there I must walke in womans liknesse. Most like a feeind of hell.

Shee witched me, being a faire yonge "maide,"
"In" the greene forfest to dwelle;
And there "to abide" in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.

Midst mores and moses; woods and wilds,
To leade a lonesome life;
Till some yong faire and courtlye knight
Wolde marreye me to his wife.

Nor fully to gains mine owne trewe shape,
Such was her devilish skille,
Until he wolde yielde to be rul’d by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.

She witched my brother to a carlish b ….
[About nine stanzas wanting.]

She witched my brother to a "carlish" boore,
And made him stiffe and strange;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde,
To live by rapine and wronge.

But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladye,
And he be a gentle knighte.

---

That looked soe foule and that was wont
On the wild more to goe.

Come kisse her, brother Kay, then said sir Gawaine,
And amend thee of thy life,
I sware this is the same lady
That I marryed to my wiffe.

Sir Kay kissed that lady bright,
Standing upon his feete:
He swore, as he was trew knight,
The spice was never soe sweete.

Well, cozen Gawaine, saies sir Kay,
Thy chance is fallen arright,
For thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids,
I ever saw with my sight.

It is my fortune, said sir Gawaine,
For my unckle Arthurs sake:
I am as glad as grasse wold be of raine,
Great joy that I may take.

Sir Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme,
Sir Kay tooke her by the tother;
They led her straight to King Arthur,
As they were brother and brother.

King Arthur welcomed them there all,
And soe did lady Genever his queene,
With all the knights of the rounde table,
Most seemly to be seene.

King Arthur beheld that lady faire,
That was soe faire and bright,
He thanked Christ in trinity
For Sir Gawaine that gentle knight.

Soe did the knights, both more or lesse,
Rejoyced all that day,
For the good chance that hapened was
To sir Gawaine and his lady gay.

This mode of publishing ancient poetry displays, it must be confessed, considerable talent and genius, but savours strongly, at the same time, of unfairness and dishonesty. Here are numerous stanzas inserted which are not in the original, and others omitted which are there. The purchasers and perusers of such a collection are deceived and imposed upon; the pleasure they receive is derived from the idea of antiquity, which, in fact, is perfect illusion.

If the ingenious editor had published all his imperfect poems by correcting the blunders of puerility or inattention, and supplying the defects of barbarian ignorance, with proper distinction of type (as, in one instance, he actually has done), it would not only have gratified the austerest antiquary, but also provided refined entertainment “for every reader of taste and genius.” He would have acted fairly and honorably, and given every sort of reader complete satisfaction. Authenticity would have been united with improvement, and all would have gone well; whereas, in the present editions, it is firmly believed, not one article has been ingeniously or faithfully printed from the beginning to the end; nor did the late eminent Thomas Tyrwhitt, so ardent a researcher into ancient poetry, and an intimate friend of the possessor, ever see this curious, though tattered, fragment, nor would the late excellent George Stevens, on the bishop’s personal application, consent to sanction the authenticity of the printed copy with his signature. [The Bishop of Dromore (as he now is), on a former occasion, having himself, as he well knows, already falsified and corrupted a modern Scottish song, "This line," he says, "being quoted from memory and given as old Scottish poetry, is (by no one, in such a case, except himself) now usually printed " (Reliques, 1775 I., xxxviii. [Scottish poetry, of the fifteenth or sixteenth century, has been so printed, but not that of the eighteenth, unless by impostors.]) "Come ye frae the border?" to give it a certain appearance of rust and antiquity. This identical song being afterward, faithfully and correctly printed in a certain collection of such things, from the earliest copy known, which, like all the rest, was accurately referred to "Live you upo' the border?" (Scottish Songs printed for J. Johnson, 1794, i., 266), the worthy prelate thought proper, in the last edition of his already recited compilation, to assert that his own corruption "would have been readily corrected by that copy, had not all confidence been destroyed by its being altered in the Historical Essay, prefixed to that pubUcation to "'Ye Live upo' the border;' the better," he adds, with his usual candour, "to favour a position, that many of the pipers might live upon the borders, for the conveniency of attending fairs, etc., in both kingdoms." This, however, is an infamous lye; it being much more likely that he himself, who has practised every kind of forgery and imposture, had some such end to alter this identical line, with much more violence, and, as he owns himself, actual "corruption," to give the quotation an air of antiquity, which it was not entitled to. The present editor's text is perfectly accurate, to a single comma, but, "this line," as he pretends to apologise for his own, "being quoted (in the Essay) from memory," having frequently heard it so sung, in his younger days, by a north country blacksmith without thinking it necessary, at the moment, to turn to the genuine text, which lay at his elbow, and which his lordship dare not impeach. "Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see (more) clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye" (Gospel according to St. Matthew, chap, vii., verse 5).]

The Wife of Bath’s Tale

Chaucer’s The Wife of Bath’s Tale differs in a couple of respects to the metrical romance, and is the version I have heard told most recently, and independently, by female tellers (Debs Newbold and Holly Medland), firstly from a female / feminst perspective, and secondly, as a frame tale.

The first major difference comes in the setting: the challenge is not set to King to Arthur, but is rather placed upon a knight found guilty of a brutal rape. He is saved from a punishment of death by Guinevere, who sets him the challenge of finding, within a year and a day, what it is that women desire the most; she should then decide his fate depneding on his answer.

The second difference is in the partial use of the tale as a frame tale, in which the first part of the tale of King Midas, taken from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, is provided as an example of women’s appraently inability to keep a secret, albeit whilst still attempting to maintain a confidence.

The Wife of Bath’s Tale, Dryden, 1742

https://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_the-canterbury-tales-of-_chaucer-geoffrey_1742_2/page/n1/mode/2up

The Canterbury tales of Chaucer, modernis’d, by Mr. Betterton, Mr. Boyle, Mr. Brooke, … published by Mr. Ogle. … In two volumes. 1742: Vol 2

The Wife of Bath’s s Tale; by Mr. Dryden, p. 140-158.

THE DESIRE of Woman:
OR THE Wife of BATH’s TALE.

By Mr. DRYDEN.

IN Days of Old, when Arthur fill’d the Throne,
Whoſe Acts and Fame to Foreign Lands were blown;
The little Elfs and little Fairy Queen
Gambol’d on Heaths, and dane’d along the Green:
And where the jolly Troop had led the Round,
The Graſs untrodden roſe, and mark’d the Ground:
Nor darkling did they glance, the Silver Light
Of Phoebe ſerv’d to guide their Steps aright,
And, with their Tripping pleas’d, prolong the Night.
Her Beams they follow’d, where at full they play’d,
Nor longer than ſhe ſhed her Horns they ftay’d:
From thence with airy Flight to Foreign Lands convey’d
Above the reſt, our Britain held they dear,
More ſolemnly they kept their Sabbaths here,
And made more ſpacious Rings, and revel’d half the Year.

I ſpeak of ancient Times; for now the Swain
Returning late may paſs the Woods in vain,
And never hope to ſee the nightly Train;
In vain the Dairy now with Mints is dreſt,
The Dairy-Maid expects no Fairy-Gueſt
To skim the Bowls, and after pay the Feaſt.
She ſighs, and ſhakes her empty Shoes in vain,
No Silver-Penny to reward her Pain:
For Priefts with Pray’rs, and other Godly Geer,
Have made the merry Goblins diſappear;
And where they play’d their merry Pranks before,
Have ſprinkled Holy Water on the Floor:
And Fry’r, that thro’ the wealthy Regions run
Thick as the Motes that twinkle in the Sun,
Reſort to Farmers rich, and bleſs their Halls;
And exorciſe the Beds, and croſs the Walls:
This makes the Fairy Choirs forſake the Place,
When once ‘tis hallow’d with the Rites of Grace:
But in the Walks where wicked Elves have been,
The Learning of the Pariſh now is ſeen,
The Midnight Parſon poſting o’er the Green,
With Gown tuck’d up to Wakes; for Sunday next,
With humming Ale encouraging his Text;
Nor wants the holy Leer to Country-Girl betwixt.
From Fiends and Imps he ſets the Village free,
There haunts not any Incubus but He.
The Maids and Women need no Danger fear
To walk by Night, and Sanctity ſo near:
For by ſome Hay-cock, or ſome ſhady Thorn,
He bids his Beads both Even-ſong and Morn.

It ſo befel in this King Arthur’s Reign,
A luſty Knight was pricking o’er the Plain;
A Batchelor he was, and of the Courtly Train,
It happen’d as he rode, a Damſel gay
In Ruſſet Robes to Market took her Way;
Soon on the Girl he caſt an am’rous Eye,
So ſtraight ſhe walk’d, and on her Paſterns high:
If ſeeing her behind he lik’d her Pace,
Now turning ſhort, he better lik’d her Face:
He ‘lights in haſte, and, full of youthful Fire,
By Force accompliſh’d his obſcene Defire:
This done, away he rode, not uneſpy’d;
For ſwarming at his Back the Country cry’d;
And, once in View, they never loſt the Sight,
But ſeiz’d, and pinion’d brought to Court the Knight.

Then Courts of Kings were held in high Renown,
E’re made the common Brothels of the Town:
There, Virgins honourable Vows receiv’d,
But chaſte as Maids in Monaſteries liv’d:
The King himſelf, to nuptial Ties a Slave,
No bad Example to his Poets gave:
And they not bad, but in a vicious Age,
Had not, to pleaſe the Prince, debauch’d the Stage.

Now what ſhould Arthur do? He lov’d the Knight;
But Sov’reign Monarchs are the Source of Right:
Mov’d by the Damſel’s Tears and common Cry,
He doom’d the brutal Raviſher to die.
But fair Geneura roſe in his Defence,
And pray’d ſo hard for Mercy from the Prince,
That to his Queen the King th’ Offender gave,
And left it in her Pow’r to Kill or Save.
This gracious Act the Ladies all approve,
Who thought it much, a Man ſhould die for Love;
And with their Miſtreſs join’d in cloſe Debate,
(Cov’ring their Kindneſs with diſſembled Hate,)
If not to free him, to prolong his Fate.
At laſt agreed, they call’d him by Conſent
Before the Queen and Female Parliament:
And the fair Speaker riſing from her Chair,
Did thus the Judgment of the Houſe declare:

‘Sir Knight, tho’ I have ask’d thy Life, yet ſtill
‘Thy Deſtiny depends upon my Will:
‘Nor haſt thou other Surety than the Grace
‘Not due to thee from our offended Race.
‘But as our Kind is of a ſofter Mold,
‘And cannot Blood without a Sigh behold,
‘I grant thee Life; reſerving ſtill the Pow’r
‘To take the Forfeit when I ſee my Hour:
‘Unleſs thy Anſwer to my next Demand
‘Shall ſet Thee free from our avenging Hand:
‘The Queſtion, whoſe Solution I require,
‘Is, What the Sex of Women moſt defire?
‘In this Diſpute thy Judges are at Strife:
‘Beware; for on thy Wit depends thy Life,
‘Yet (leſt ſurpriz’d, unknowing what to ſay,
‘Thou damn thy ſelf) we give thee farther Day:
‘A Year is thine, to wander at thy Will,
‘And learn from others, if thou want’ſt the Skill,
‘But, not to hold our Proffer turn’d in Scorn,
‘Good Sureties will we have for thy Return;
‘That at the Time prefix’d thou ſhalt obey,
‘And at thy Pledges Peril keep thy Day.’

Woe was the Knight at this ſevere Cemmand!
But well he knew ‘twas bootleſs to withſtand:
The Terms accepted, as the Fair ordain,
He put in Bail for his Return again;
And promis’d Anſwer at the Day aſſign’d,
The beſt, with Heav’n’s Aſſiſtance, he could find.

His Leave thus taken, on his Way he went
With heavy Heart, and full of Diſcontent,
Miſdoubting much, and fearful of th’ Event.
T’was hard the Truth of ſuch a Point to find,
As was not yet agreed among the Kind.
Thus on he went; ſtill anxious more and more,
Ask’d all he met, and knock’d at ev’ry Door;
Enquir’d of Men; but made his chief Requeſt
To learn from Women what they lov’d the beſt.
They anſwer’d each according to her Mind,
To pleaſe herſelf, not all the Female Kind.
One was for Wealth, another was for Place:
Crones, old and ugly, wiſh’d a better Face,
The Widow’s Wiſh was, oftentimes to wed
The wanton Maids were all for Sport a-Bed.
Some ſaid, the Sex were pleas’d with handſome Lies,
And ſome groſs Flattry lov’d without Diſguiſe:
Truth is, ſays one, he ſeldom fails to win,
Who flatters well; for that’s our darling Sin.
But long Attendance, and a duteous Mind,
Will work ev’n with the Wiſeſt of our Kind.
One thought the Sexes prime Felicity
Was from the Bonds of Wedlock to be free:
Their Pleaſures, Hours, and Actions all their own,
And uncontrolbd to give Account to none.
Some wiſh a Husband-Fool; but ſuch are curſt,
For Fools perverſe, of Husbands are the worſt:
All Women would be counted Chaſte and Wiſe;
Nor ſhould our Spouſes ſee, but with our Eyes:
For Fools will prate; and tho’ they want the Wit
To find cloſe Faults, yet open Blots will hit:
Tho’ better for their Eaſe to hold their Tongue,
For Womankind was never in the Wrong.
So Noiſe enſues, and Quarrels laſt for Life;
The Wife abhors the Fool, the Fool the Wife.
And ſome Men ſay, that great Delight have we
To be for Truth extoll’d, and Secrecy;
And conſtant in one Purpoſe ſtill to dwell,
And not our Husband’s Counſels to reveal.
But that’s a Fable; for our Sex is frail,
Inventing rather than not tell a Tale.
Like leaky Sieves, no Secrets we can hold:
Witneſs the famous Tale that Ovid told.

Midas the King, as in his Book appears,
By Phoebus was endow’d with Aſſes Ears,
Which under his long Locks he well conceal’d,
(As Monarchs Vices muſt not be reveal’d)
For fear the People have ‘em in the Wind,
Who long ago were neither Dumb nor Blind;
Nor apt to think from Heav’n their Title ſprings,
Since Jove and Mars left of begetting Kings:
This Midas knew; and durſt communicate
To none but to his Wife, his Ears of State.
One muſt be truſted, and he thought her fit,
As paſſing prudent, and a parlous Wit.
To this ſagacious Confeſſor he went,
And told her what a Gift the Gods had ſent;
But told it under Matrimonial Seal,
With ſtrict Injunction never to reveal.
The Secret heard, ſhe plighted him her Troth
(And ſacred, ſure, is ev’ry Woman’s Oath)
The Royal Malady ſhould reſt unknown,
Both for her Husband’s Honour and her own.
But ne’ertheleſs ſhe pin’d with Diſcontent;
The Counſel rumbled till it found a Vent.
The Thing, ſhe knew, ſhe was oblig’d to hide;
By Int’reſt and by Oath the Wife was ty’d;
But if ſhe told it not, the Woman dy’d.
Loth to betray a Husband and a Prince,
But ſhe muſt burſt, or blab; and no Pretence
Of Honour ty’d her Tongue from Self-Defence.
A marſhy Ground commodiouſly was near;
Thither ſhe ran, and held her Breath for fear,
Leſt if a Word ſhe ſpoke of any thing,
That Word might be the Secret of the King.
Thus, full of Counſel, to the Fen ſhe went,
Grip’d all the Way, and longing for a Vent:
Arriv’d by pure Neceſſity compell’d,
On her majeſtic Marrow-bones ſhe kneel’d;
Then to the Waters-brink ſhe laid her Head,
And, as a Bittour bumps within a Reed,
‘To thee alone, O Lake, ſhe ſaid, I tell
‘(And, as thy Queen, command thee to concea)
‘Beneath his Locks the King my Husband wears
‘A goodly Royal Pair of Aſſes Ears.
‘Now I have eas’d my Boſom of the Pain,
Till the next longing Fit returns again!’

Thus thro’ a Woman was the Secret known;
Tell us, and in Effect you tell the Town.
But, to my Tale: The Knight with heavy Cheer,
Wandring in vain, had now conſum’d the Year:
One Day was only left to ſolve the Doubt;
Yet knew no more than when he firſt ſet out.
But home he muſt; and as th’Award had been,
Yield up his Body Captive to the Queen.
In this deſpairing State he happ’d to ride,
As Fortune led him, by a Foreft-ſide:
Lonely the Vale, and full of Horror-ſtood,
Brown with the Shade of a religious Wood:
When full before him, at the Noon of Night,
(The Moon was up, and ſhot gleamy Light)
He ſaw a Choir of Ladies in a Round;
That featly footing ſeem’d to skim the Ground:
Thus dancing Hand in Hand, ſo light they were,
He knew not where they trod, on Earth or Air.
At ſpeed he drove, and came a ſudden Gueſt,
In hope where many Women were, at leaſt
Some one by chance might anſwer his Requeſt.
But faſter than his Horſe the Ladies flew,
And in a trice were vaniſh’d out of View.

One only Hag remain’d; but fouler far
Than Grandame Apes in Indian Foreſts are
Againſt a wither’d Oak ſhe lean’d her Weight,
Propp’d on her truſty Staff, not half upright,
And dropp’d an aukward Court’ſy to the Knight.
Then ſaid, ‘What makes you, Sir, ſo late abroad
‘Without a Guide, and this no beaten Road?
‘Or want you aught that here you hope to find,
‘Or travel for ſome Trouble in your Mind?
‘The laſt I gueſs; and, if I read aright,
‘Thoſe of our Sex are bound to ſerve a Knight:
‘Perhaps good Counſel may your Grief aſſuage;
‘Then tell your Pain: For Wiſdom is in Age.’

To this the Knight: ‘Good Mother, would you know
‘The ſecret Cauſe and Spring of all my Woe?
‘My Life muſt with, To-morrow’s Light expire,
‘Unleſs I tell what Women moſt deſire.
‘Now, could you help me at this hard Eſſay,
‘Or for your inborn Goodneſs, or for Pay;
‘Yours is my Life, redeem’d by your Advice,
‘Ask what you pleaſe, and I will pay the Price:
‘The proudeſt Kerchief of the Court ſhall reſt
‘Well ſatisfy’d of what they love the beſt.’
‘Plight me thy Faith, quoth ſhe, that what I ask,
‘Thy Danger over, and perform’d the Task;
‘That ſhalt thou give for Hire of thy Demand;
‘Here, take thy Oath, and ſeal it on my Hand;
‘I warrant thee, on Peril of my Life,
‘Thy Word ſhall pleaſe both Widow, Maid, and Wife’.

More Words there needed not to move the Knight
To take her Offer, and his Truth to plight,
With that ſhe ſpread her Mantle on the Ground,
And, firſt enquiring whither he was bound,
Bid him not fear, tho’ long and rough the Way,
At Court he ſhould arrive e’re Break of Day:
His Horſe ſhould find the Way without a Guide,
She ſaid: With Fury they began to ride,
He on the midſt, the Beldam at his Side.
The Horſe, what Devil drove I cannot tell;
But only this, they ſped their Journey well:
And all the Way the Crone inform’d the Knihht,
How he ſhould anſwer the Demand aright.

To Court they came: The News was quickly ſpread,
Of his returning to redeem his Head.
The Female Senate was aſſembled ſoon,
With all the Mob of Women in the Town:
The Queen ſate Lord Chief Juſtice of the Hall,
And bade the Crier cite the Criminal,
The Knight appear’d, and Silence they proclaim, .
Then firſt the Culprit anſwer’d to his Name:
And, after Forms of Law, was laſt requir’d
To name the Thing that Women moſt deſir’d.

Th’Offender, taught his Leſſon by the Way,
And by his Counſel order’d what to ſay,
Thus bold began: ‘My Lady Liege (ſaid he)
‘What all your Sex deſire, is Sov’reignty.
‘The Wife affects her Husband to command;
‘All muſt be hers, both Money, Houſe and Land.
‘The Maids are Miſtreſſes ev’n in their Name;
‘And of their Servants full Dominion claim.
‘This, at the Peril of my Head, I ſay,
‘A blunt plain Truth, The Sex aſpires to Sway,
‘You to rule all, while we, like Slaves, obey.’

TO DO

There was not one, or Widow, Maid, or Wiſe,
But ſaid, the Knight had well deſerv’d his Life.
Ev’n fair Geneura, with a Bluſh, confeſs’d
The Man had found what Women love the beſt.

Up ſtarts the Beldam, who was there unſeen,
And, Rev’rence made, accoſted thus the Queen:
‘My Liege, ſaid ſhe, before the Court ariſe,
‘May I, poor Wretch, find Favour in your Eyes.
‘To grant my juſt Requeſt? T’was I who taught
‘The Knight this Anſwer, and inſpir’d his Thought.
‘None but a Woman could a Man direct
‘To tell us Women, what we moſt affect.
‘But firſt I ſwore him on his Knightly Troth,
‘(And here demand Performance of his Oath)
‘To grant the Boon that next I ſhould defire:
‘He gave his Faith, and I expect my Hire:
My Promiſe is fulfill’d: I ſav’d his Life,
‘And claim his Debt, to take me for his Wife.’
The Knight was ask’d, nor could his Oath deny,
But hop’d they would not force him to comply.
The Women, who would rather wreſt the Laws,
Than let a Siſter-Plaintiff loſe the Cauſe,
(As Judges on the Bench more gracious are,
And more attent to Brothers of the. Bar)
Cry’d one and all, the Suppliant ſhould have Right,
And to the Grandame-Hag adjudg’d the Knight.

In vain he ſigh’d, and oft’ with Tears deſird
Some reaſonable Sute might be requir’d.
But ſtill the Crone was conſtant to her Note:
The more he ſpoke, the more ſhe ſtretch’d her Throat.
In vain he proffer’d all his Goods, to fave
His Body, deſtin’d to that living Grave.
The liqu’riſh Hag rejects the Pelf with Scorm:
And nothing but the Man would ſerve her Turn.
‘Not all the Wealth of Eaſtern Kings, ſaid ſhe,
‘Have Pow’r to part my plighted Love and me:
‘And Old, and Ugly as I am, and Poor,
‘Yet never will I break the Faith I ſwore!
‘For mine thou art by Promiſe, during Life,
‘And I thy loving and obedient Wife.’

‘My Love! Nay, rather my Damnation Thou,
‘Said he; nor am I bound to keep my Vow:
‘The Fiend, thy Sire, has ſent thee from below,
‘Elſe how could’ſt thou my ſecret Sorrows know?
‘Avant, old Witch; for I renounce thy Bed:
‘The Queen may take the Forfeit of my Head,
‘E’re any of my Race ſo foul a Crone ſhall wed.’

Both heard, the Judge pronounc’d againſt the Knight,
So was he marry’d in his own deſpite:
And all Day after hid him as an Owl,
Not able to ſuſtain a Sight ſo foul.
Perhaps the Reader thinks I do him Wrong, |
To paſs the Marriage-Feaſt and Nuptial Song:
Mirth there was none, the Man was a-la-mort,
And little Courage had to make his Court.
To Bed they went, the Bridegroom and the Bride:
Was never ſuch an ill-pair’d Couple ty’d.
Reſtleſs, he toſs’d and tumbled to and fro,
And roll’d and wriggled further off for Woe.
The good old Wife lay ſmiling by his Side,
And caught him in her quiv’ring Arms, and cry’d,
‘When you my raviſh’d Predeceſſor ſaw,
‘You were not then become this Man of Straw;
‘Had you been ſuch, you might have ‘ſcap’d the Law.
‘Is this the Cuſtom of King Artbur’s Court?
‘Are all Round-Table Knights of ſuch a Sort?
‘Remember I am ſhe who ſav’d your Life,
‘Your loving, lawful, and complying Wife:
‘Not thus you ſwore in your unhappy Hour,
‘Nor I for this Return employ’d my Pow’r.
‘In time of Need I was your faithful Friend;
‘Nor did I ſince, nor ever will offend.
‘Believe me, my lov’d Lord, ‘tis much unkind;
‘What Fury has poſſeſs’d your alter’d Mind?
‘Thus on my Wedding-Night — without Pretence—
‘Come, turn this Way, or tell me my Offence.
‘If not your Wife, let Reaſon’s Rule perſuade;
‘Name but my Fault, Amends ſhall ſoon be made.
‘Amends! Nay, that’s impofſible, ſaid he;
‘What Change of Age or Uglineſs can be?
‘Or, could Medea’s Magick mend thy Face,
‘Thou art deſcended from ſo mean a Race,
‘That never Knight was match’d with ſuch Diſgrace.
‘What Wonder, Madam, if I move my Side,
‘When, if I turn, I turn to ſuch a Bride?’

‘And is this all that troubles you ſo ſore?
‘And what the Devil could’ſt thou wiſh me more?
‘Ah, Benedicite! reply’d the Crone:
‘Then Cauſe of juſt Complaining you have none.
‘The Remedy to this were ſoon apply’d,
‘Wou’d you be like the Bridegroom to the Bride.
‘But (for you ſay, a long-deſcended Race,
‘And Wealth and Dignity, and Pow’r and Place,
‘Make Gentlemen, and that your high Degree
‘Is much diſparag’d to be match’d with me;)
‘Know this, my Lord, Nobility of Blood
‘Is but a glitt’ring and fallacious Good:
‘The Nobleman is he, whoſe noble Mind
‘Is fill’d with inborn Worth, unborrow’d from his Kind,
‘The King of Heav’n was in a Manger laid,
‘And took his Earth but from an humble Maid;
‘Then what can Birth, or mortal Men beſtow?
‘Since Floods no higher than their Fountains flow.
‘We, who for Name and empty Honour ſtrive,
‘Our true Nobility from him derive.
‘Your Anceſtors, who puff your Mind with Pride,
‘And vaſt Eſtates to mighty Titles ty’d,
‘Did not your Honour, but their own advance:
‘For Virtue comes not by Inheritance.
‘If you tralineate from your Father’s Mind,
‘What are you elſe but of a Baſtard-kind?
‘Do as your great Progenitors have done,
‘And by your Virtues prove yourſelf their Son.
‘No Father can infuſe, or Wit or Grace;
‘A Mother comes acroſs, and marrs the Race.
‘A Grandſire or a Grandame taints the Blood;
‘And ſeldom three Deſcents continue Good.
‘Were Virtue by Deſcent, a noble Name
‘Could never villanize his Father’s Fame;
‘But as the firſt, the laſt of all the Line
‘Would, like the Sun, ev’n in Deſcending ſhine.
‘Take Fire, and bear it to the darkeſt Houſe
‘Betwixt King Arthur’s Court and Caucaſus,
‘If you depart, the Flame ſhall ſtill remain,
‘And the bright Blaze enlighten all the Plain:
‘Nor, till the Fuel periſh, can decay,
‘By Nature form’d on Things combuſtible to Prey.
‘Such is not Man, who mixing better Seed
‘With worſe, begets a baſe degen’rate Breed:
‘The Bad corrupts the Good, and leaves behind
‘No Trace of all the great Begetter’s Mind.
‘The Father ſinks within his Son, we ſee,
‘And often riſes in the third Degree:
‘If better Luck a better Mother give;
‘Chance gave us Being, and by Chance we live.
‘Such as our Atoms were, ev’n ſuch are we,
‘Or call it Chance, or ſtrong Neceſſity,
‘Thus, loaded with dead Weight, the Will is free.
‘And thus it needs muſt be: For Seed conjoin’d
‘Lets into Nature’s Work the imperfect Kind:
‘But Fire, th’ Enliv’ner of the gen’ral Frame,
‘Is One, its Operations ſtill the ſame.
‘Its Principle is in itſelf: While ours
‘Works, as Confed’rates war, wich mingled Pow’rs:
‘Or Man, or Woman, whichſoever fails:
‘And, oft, the Vigour of the worſe prevails.
‘Aether with Sulphur blended alters Hue,
‘And caſts a duſky Gleam of Sodom blue.
‘Thus in a Brute, their ancient Honour ends,
‘And the fair Mermaid in a Fiſh deſcends:
‘The Line is gone; no longer Duke or Earl;
‘But, by himſelf degraded, turns a Churl.
‘Nobility of Blood is but Renown
‘Of thy great Fathers, by their Virtue known,
‘And a long Trail of Light to thee deſcending down,
‘If in thy Smoke it ends, their Glories ſhine;
‘But Infamy and Villanage are thine.
‘Then what I ſaid before is plainly ſhow’d,
‘The true Nobility proceeds from God:
‘Not left us by Inheritance, but giv’n
‘By Bounty of our Stars, and Grace of Heav’n,
‘Thus from a Captive Servius Tullus roſe,
‘Whom for his Virtues the firſt Romans choſe;
‘Fabritius from their Walls repell’d the Foe,
‘Whoſe noble Hands had exercis’d the Plough.
‘From hence, my Lord and Love, I thus conclude,
‘That tho’ my homely Anceſtors were rude,
‘Mean as I am, yet I may have the Grace.
‘To make you Father of a gen’rous Race:
‘And Noble then am I, when I begin,
‘In Virtue cloth’d, to caſt the Rags of Sin:
‘If Poverty be my upbraided Crime,
‘And you believe in Heav’n, there was a Time
‘When He, the great Controller of our Fate,
‘Deign’d to be Man, and liv’d in low Eſtate:
‘Which he, who had the World at his Diſpoſe,
‘If Poverty were Vice, would never chooſe.
‘Philoſophers have ſaid, and Poets ſing,
‘That a glad Poverty’s an honeſt Thing.
‘Content is Wealth, the Riches of the Mind;
‘And happy He who can that Treaſure find.
‘But the baſe Miſer ſtarves amidſt his Store,
‘Broods on his Gold, and griping ſtill at more,
‘Sits ſadly pining, and believes he’s poor.
The ragged Beggar, tho’ he wants Relief,
‘Has not to loſe, and ſings before the Thief.
‘Want is a bitter and a hateful Good,
‘Becauſe its Virtues are not underſtood:
‘Yet many Things, impoſſible to Thought,
‘Have been by Need to full Perfection brought:
‘The Daring of the Soul proceeds from thence,
‘Sharpneſs of Wit, and active Diligence:
‘Prudence at once, and Fortitude it gives,
‘And, if in Patience ta’en, it mends our Lives:
‘For ev’n that Indigence that brings me low,
‘Makes me Myſelf, and Him above to know.
‘A Good which none wound challenge, few would chooſe;
‘A fair Poſſeſſion, which Mankind refuſe.
‘If we from Wealth to Poverty deſcend,
‘Want gives to know the Flatt’rer from the Friend.
‘If I am Old and Ugly, well for you;
‘No lewd Adult’rer will my Love purſue.
‘Nor Jealouſy, the Bane of Marry’d Life,
‘Shall haunt you, for a wither’d homely Wiſe:
‘For Age and Uglineſs, as all agree,
‘Are the beſt Guards of Female Chaſtity.

‘Yet, fince I ſee your Mind is worldly bent,
‘I’ll do my beſt to further your Content.
‘And therefore, of two Gifts in my Diſpoſe,
‘Think e’re you ſpeak, I grant you Leave to chooſe:
‘Would you I ſhould be ſtill Deform’d and Old,
‘Nauſeous to touch, and loathſom to Behold;
‘On this Condition, to remain for Life
‘A careful, tender, and obedient Wife,
‘In all I can contribute to your Eaſe,
‘And not in Deed; or Word, or Thought diſpleaſe?
‘Or, would you rather have me Young and Fair,
‘And take the Chance that happens to your Share?
‘Temptations are in Beauty, and in Youth;
‘And how can you depend upon my Truth?
‘Now weigh the Danger with the doubtful Bliſs,
‘And thank yourſelf, if aught ſhould fall amiſ.’

Sore ſigh’d the Knight, who this long Sermon heard;
At length, conſid’ring all, his Heart he chear’d;
And thus reply’d: ‘My Lady, and my Wife,
‘To your wiſe Conduct I reſign my Life:
‘Chooſe you for me; for well you underſtand
‘The future Good and Ill on either Hand:
‘But, if an humble Huſband may requeſt,
‘Provide, and order all Things for the beſt:
‘Yours be the Care to profit, and to pleaſe;
‘And let your Subject-Servant take his Eaſe.

‘Then thus in Peace, quoth ſhe, concludes the Strife,
‘Since I am turn’d the Huſband, you the Wife:
‘The Matrimonial Victory is mine;
‘Which, having fairly gain’d, I will reſign.
‘Forgive, if I have ſaid or done amiſs,
‘And ſeal the Bargain with a friendly Kiſs:
‘I promis’d you but one Content to ſhare;
‘But now I will become both Good and Fair.
‘The Bus’neſs of my Life ſhall be to pleaſe.
‘And for my Beauty, that as Time ſhall try;
‘But draw the Curtain firſt, and caſt your Eye.’

He look’d, and ſaw a Creature heav’nly fair,
In Bloom of Youth, and of a charming Air.
With Joy he turn’d, and ſeiz’d her Iv’ry Arm;
And, like Pygmalion, found the Statue warm.
Small Arguments there needed to prevail,
A Storm of Kiſſes pour’d as thick as Hail.
Thus, long in mutual Bliſs they lay embrac’d,
And their firſt Love continued to the laſt:
One Sunſhine was their Life, no Cloud between;;
Nor ever was a kinder Couple ſeen.

And ſo may all our Lives like theirs be led;
Heav’n ſend the Maids young Husbands, freſh in Bed.
May Widows wed as often as they can,
And ever for the better change their Man.
And ſome devouring Plague purſue their Lives,
Who will not well be govern’d by their Wives.

END OF THE WIFE OF BATH’S TALE.

As first put into “modern” English, 1912

https://archive.org/details/completepoetica01mackgoog/page/170/mode/2up The complete poetical works of Geoffrey Chaucer: now first put into modern English by Chaucer, Geoffrey, -1400 John S. P. Tatlock and Percy MacKaye

Publication date 1912

pp171-8

Here beginneth the Tale of the Wife of Bath.

In the old days of King Arthur, of whom Britons speak great glory, this land was all filled with fairy power. The elf-queen danced full oft, with her merry company, in many a green mead; this was the belief of old, as I find in books. I speak of many hundred years ago; but in our times no man can see elves any more. For now the great charity and the prayers of limiters and of other holy friars, who reach every land and every brook, as thick as motes in a sunbeam, blessing halls, towers, chambers, kitchens, cities, burgs, castles, thorps, dairies, barns, stables, bowers, — this brings it to pass that there be no elves. For where a fairy was wont to walk, there walks the limiter himself now, of mornings or of afternoons, and says his matins and his holy things as he goes in his mendicancy. Women may go up and down in safety ; in every bush, under every tree, save him, there is none incubus, — and he will do them nought but dishonor.

And so befell that this King Arthur had a lusty young knight in his court, who on a day came riding from the river; and it happed that he saw a maid walking ahead alone as she was born, and her he ravished. For this violation there was such clamor and such appeal unto King Arthur, that the knight was condemned by course of law to die; and peradventure, such was the statute then, he would have lost his head, but that the queen and other ladies so long prayed the king for grace, till he granted him his life thereupon, and gave him over to the queen’s will, to choose whether she would save him or let him die.

The queen thanked the king right heartily; and after this, upon a day when she saw her time, she spake thus to the knight: ‘You stand yet,’ quoth she, ‘in such case that you have even now no assurance of your life. I grant you life, if you can tell me what thing it is that women desire most. Beware, and guard your neckbone from iron! And if you cannot tell it forthwith, I will give you yet leave to go for a twelvemonth and a day, to search out and learn an answer sufficient for this point. And ere you depart, I will have security that you will yield up your body in this place.’

Woe was this knight, and he sighed sorrowfully. But what! He might not do even as he list. And at last he chose to go and come again even at the year’s end, with such reply as God should purvey him; and he took his leave and went his way forth.

He sought every house and place where he hoped to find such luck as to learn what women chiefly love. But he could arrive at no coast where he could find two creatures agreeing together on this thing. Some said that women best love riches; some said honor; some said mirth; some, rich array; some, lusty husbands, and to be widowed and wedded often. Some said that our hearts are most eased when we be flattered and gratified. They came full nigh the truth; a man shall best win us by flattery, I will not deny it, and by attentiveness and diligence we are caught, both great and small. And some said how we love best to be free and to do even as we will, and that no man reprove us for our faults, but say that we be wise and never foolish at all. For in sooth there is none amongst us, if any wight claw us on a sore place, that will not kick, because he tells us the truth. Try, and he shall find it out who does so. For be we never so sinful within, we would be held for wise, and clean of evil-doing.

And some said that we have great delight to be accounted stable and eke trustworthy and steadfast in one purpose, and never bewraying what men tell us. But that tale is not worth a rake-handle, perdy! We women can conceal nothing, as witness Midas; will ye hear the tale?

Ovid, amongst other small stories, says that Midas had two ass’s ears growmg upon his head under his lone hair, which blemish he hid full cunningly from every man’s sight, as best he could, so that none wist of it save his wife. He loved her most and trusted her; and he prayed her to tell of his disfigurement to no creature. She swore to him, ‘Nay, not to gain all the world she would not do that villainy and sin, to bring her husband so foul a name; for her own honor she would not do it.’ But nevertheless she felt she should die, to hide a secret so long; it swelled so sore about her heart, it seemed to her, that some word must needs burst from her. And since she durst tell it to no human creature, she ran down to a marsh hard by; her heart was ablaze till she came there. And ever as a bittern bumbles in the mire, she laid her mouth down unto the water: Thou water, bewray me not with thy sound,’ quoth she ; ‘I tell it to thee, and to none else. Mine husband hath two lone ass’s ears. Now my heart is whole and well again; now it is out. In very truth I could keep it in no longer.’ By this you may see that though we bide a time, we can conceal no secret forever; it must out. If you will hear the remnant of the tale, read Ovid; there you may learn it.

This knight, of whom is my tale chiefly, when he saw he could not come by it — that is to say, what women most love — full sorrowful was the spirit withm his breast. But home he went, he might not tarry; the day was come when he must turn homeward. And as he went, deep in care, it befell that he , rode under a forest-side, where he saw four-and-twenty ladies and yet more go on a dance. Full eagerly he drew toward this dance, in hope of learning some piece of wisdom. But in truth, ere he fully came there, the dance was vanished — where, he wist not; and he discerned no living creature, save that he saw sitting on the green an old wife, a fouler wight none could imagine. At the approach of the knight this old wife arose and said, ‘Sir knight, by this way lies no path. Tell me, by your faith, what seek you? Peradventure it may be the better for you; these old folk know many a thing.’

‘My dear mother,’ quoth this knight, ‘in truth I am but a dead man, unless I can say what thing it is that women desire most. Could you instruct me, I would well pay you your reward.’

‘Plight me your troth,’ quoth she, ‘on my hand here, that you will do the first thing that I require of you, if it lie in your power; and ere it be night I will tell it you.’

‘Take my pledge here,’ said the knight, ‘I agree.’

‘Then,’ quoth she, ‘I dare be bound your life is safe; for upon my soul I will stand to it that the queen will say as I do. Let see the proudest kerchief or caul of the whole court, who dares say nay to what I shall teach you. Let us go on, without further words.’

Then she whispered a word in his ear, and bade him be glad and have no dread.

When they were come to the court, this knight said ‘he had kept his day, as he had promised, and ready was his answer.’ Then were assembled to hear his answer full many a noble wife, and many a maiden, and many a widow, — because they be wise; and the queen herself sat as justicer. And then this knight was summoned. Silence was commanded to every wight, and the knight was bidden tell in full audience what thing mortal women most love. This knight stood not like a dumb beast, but anon answered the question with manly voice, that all the court heard it. ‘My liege lady,’ quoth he, ‘over all this world women wish to have sovereignty over their husbands as well as over their lovers, and to be in mastership above them. This is your chiefest desire, though you slay me for the word; do as you list, I am here at your will.’

In all the court there was neither wife nor maid nor widow to gainsay what he replied, but all declared he was worthy to have his freedom. And at that word, the old woman started up whom the knight had seen sitting on the green.

‘Your favor, my sovereign lady!’ quoth she. ‘Do me justice, ere your court break up. I taught the knight this answer, for which he plighted me his faith that he would do the first thing I should require of him, if it lay in his power. Before the court, then, I pray you, sir knight,’ quoth she, ‘that you take me to wife, for you well know that I have saved your neck. If I speak falsely, say me nay, upon your faith!’

This knight answered, ‘I wot full well that such was my promise, alas and alack! But for the love of God, pray choose another request! Take all my goods; let my body go.’

‘Nay, then,’ answered she, ‘I beshrew us both. For though I be foul, poor, and old, I would none of all the metal or ore that is buried under the earth or lies upon it, but I were thy wife, and thy love eke.’

‘My love!’ quoth he, ‘nay, my damnation! Alas that any of my kindred should be so foully mismated!’

But all this was for nought. This is the conclusion, that he was constrained, and needs must wed her. And he took his old wife and went to his chamber.

Now peradventure some men would say that of my negligence I take no care to tell you all the rejoicing and pomp which was at the celebration that day. To which thing I shall briefly answer, and say there was no joy nor celebration at all; but only heaviness and much sorrow. For he wedded her privily on a morn; and such was his woe, hid him all day after like an owl, his wife looked so ugly.

Great was his misery when he was alone with his wife; he tossed about and turned to and fro. His old wife lay evermore smiling, and said, ‘Ah, benedicite, dear husband! fares every knight thus with his wife as you do? Is this the way of King Arthur’s household? Is every knight of his so distant? I am your own love and your wife eke, and I have saved your neck, and certes, I have never yet done you a wrong. Why do you so this first night? You fare as a man who has lost his wit. What is my guilt? Tell it me, for the love of God, and if I have the power, it shall be amended.’

‘Amended!’ quoth this knight. ‘Alas, nay, nay; it cannot be amended forevermore! You are so loathly and so old, and eke come of so low a lineage, that it is small wonder though I toss and turn. Would God my heart would burst!’

‘Is this the cause of your unquiet?’

‘Yea, certainly, and no wonder,’ quoth he.

‘Now, sir,’ she replied, ‘I could amend all this ere three days were gone, if I list, so you bear yourself toward me well.

‘But when you speak of such gentility as is descended from ancient wealth, so that therefor you knights are men of breeding, — such arrogance is not worth a hen. Look who is ever most virtuous, openly and privily, and ever most inclines to do what gentle deeds he may; take him for the gentlest man. Christ wills that we claim our gentility from him, not from our ancestors’ ancient wealth. For though all their heritage, by reason whereof we claim high station, descend to us, yet they cannot at all bequeath to any of us their virtuous living, which made them to be called gentle men and to bid us follow them and do in like manner. The wise poet of Florence, who is named Dante, has a noble saying on this matter; lo, in such rhyme is Dante’s saying:—

“Seldom into the brtnches of the tree
Mounts worth of man, for He that gives it to us
Wills that of Him we claim nobility.”

For we may claim naught as from our ancestors save temporal things which men may injure and impair. Every wight eke knows this as well as I, that if nobility were planted by nature in a certain family all down the line, then would they never cease to do the fair offices of nobility, both privately and before the world; they could never do villainy or sin. Take fire and bear it into the darkest house betwixt here and the mount of Caucasus, and let men shut the doors and go thence, nevertheless the fire will burn and blaze as fairly as though twenty thousand men beheld it ; on peril of my life, it will hold to its natural office till it die! Here you may well see how nobility hangs not from ancient possessions, since folk perform not alway its works, as does the fire, lo! according to its nature. For, God wot, men may full often see a lord’s son do shame and baseness; and he that will have esteem for gentility because he was born of a noble house and had virtuous and noble ancestors, and yet himself will not perform the deeds of gentility nor follow after his gentle ancestor who is dead, he is not noble, be he duke or baron; for base sinful deeds make a churl. For gentility then were but renown of your ancestors for their high worthiness, which is full extraneous to your person. Your gentility comes only from God. Then comes our true gentility of divine grace, and was in no wise bequeathed to us with our earthly station.

‘Think how noble was that Tullius Hostilius, as Valerius tells, who rose out of poverty to high nobility. Read Seneca, and Boethius eke; there you shall see expressly that he who does noble deeds is noble. And therefore, dear husband, I conclude thus: albeit mine ancestors were untutored, yet may the high God — and so I hope — grant me grace to live virtuously. Then I am noble, when I begin to live virtuously and to abandon evil.

‘And you reproach me for poverty; but the high God on whom we believe chose freely to live in poverty. And certes every man, maid or wife, may well know that Jesus, King of Heaven, would not choose an ill manner of living. Verily, cheerful poverty is an honorable thing, so will Seneca say and other clerks. Whoso holds him content with his poverty, I count him rich, though he have not a shirt! He who covets is a poor wight, for he would have that which is not within his power. But he that has naught, nor covets to have, is rich, albeit you count him but a serving-lad. True poverty, it sings by nature. Juvenal says merrily, concerning poverty:—

“The poor man as he strides along
Before the thieves may sing a song.”

Poverty is a hateful good, and a full great ridder from cares, I trow, and eke a great teacher of wisdom to him that takes it in patience. All this is poverty, though it seem wretched; and a possession which no wight will challenge. When a man is humbled, full often poverty makes him to know his God and himself eke. Poverty methinks is a perspective glass through which he may see who are his true friends. And therefore, sir, I pray, so I grieve you not, upbraid me no more for my poverty.

‘Now, sir, you reproach me for mine old age. And certes, sir, though there were no authority in any book to tell you so, yet you honorable gentlefolk say that men should do courtesy to an old wight, and for your gentle manners call him Father. And I could find authorities for this, I trow. Now you say I am old and foul — then dread you not to be a cuckold. For ugliness and age, on my life, are great wardens over chastity. But nevertheless, since I know what it is you would have, I shall fulfil your worldly will.

‘Choose,’ quoth she, ‘one of these two things, to have me foul and old till I die, and to you a true, humble wife, never in all my days displeasing you ; or else to have me young and fair, and take your adventure of the resorting to your house — or mayhap to some other place — which there will be for my sake. Now choose yourself which you will have.’

This knight took counsel with himself and sighed sore; but at last he spake after this manner: ‘My lady and love, and my dear wife, I put me in your wise governance. Do you choose which may be greatest pleasure and greatest honor to you and me also; I care not which of the two, for it suffices me as it pleases you.’

‘Then have I got the mastery over you,* quoth she, ‘since I may make choice, and control as I list?’

‘Yea, certes, wife,’ quoth he; ‘I hold that for the best.’

Quoth she, ‘Kiss me, we be angered no longer. For by my faith I will be both unto you — that is to say, both fair, yea, and good. I pray to God that I may die mad, but I be as good and faithful as ever wife was since the world was new. And except I be in the morn as fair to see as any lady, queen or empress, betwixt the east and the west, do with my life and death as you will. Cast up the curtain, look how it is.’

And when the knight saw verily that she was so fair and likewise so young, he clasped her in his two arms for joy, his heart bathed in a bath of bliss. A thousand times together he kissed her.

And she obeyed him in all which might cause him delight or pleasure. And thus they lived in perfect joy to the end of their lives. And may Jesu Christ send us husbands meek, young, and lusty, and grace to overlive them that we wed. And eke I pray Jesu to shorten their days that will not be ruled by their wives. And old, angry niggards of money, God send them betimes a very pestilence!

Here endeth the Wife of Bath’s Tale.

This set of notes is still very much a work in progress, with several more notes to follow…